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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. \) 



POEMS 



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UTTEEANCE; 



OR, 



PRIVATE VOICES TO THE PUBLIC HEART. 



rOLLECTION OF HOME-POEMS. 



'y\\AA CAROLINE A\'bRIGGS rKVO^<^<'"^ 




BOSTON: 

PHILLIPS, SAMPSON, AND COMPANY. 
18-52. 



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Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, 

BY CAEOLINE A. BKIGGS, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts. 



To MY BEST Friends and earliest ; 

My Father and Mother ; — 

These Poems are affectionately Dedicated 

By their Daughter. 



PROEM. 

I begged of our clear Lord one gift from Heaven, 
A true and simple Utterance, — and 'tAvas given. 



CONTENTS 



VOICES OF AFFECTION. 

Paje 

Do They Miss Me, -17 

The Love-Wreath, 20 

Names, 27 

To at Parting, 30 

The Gift, 33 

" Kiss Me," 35 

Carrie, 36 

The Portrait, 39 

To , 43 

The Mystic Harp, 44 

To in Absence, 46 

Dreams, 49 

Rosabelle, 50 



10 CONTENTS. 

Page 

A Heart-Thought, 53 

" Fail Me Not Thou," 54 

A Sister's Memory, 57 

A Sister's Grave, 62 

Mary, 65 

Sonnet, 69 



VOICES OF CHEEK. 

Try, 73 

An Incident, 75 

"Weeping may endure for a Night," &c., 77 

A Lesson, 80 

Trust to the Future, ; ... 83 



A VOICE FOR THE POOH. 



A Voice for the Poor, 89 



CONTENTS. 11 



VOICES OF GKIEF. 



The Motherless, . . . Ill 

" The Forced Bridal," 116 

The Maniac's Death-Song, 119 

May, 122 

A Ballad, 126 

Lena, 130 

The Ocean Bell, 139 

The Changed Meeting, 143 

Life, 146 

A Sea-Side Thought, 149 

Stanzas, 152 

Sonnet, written on the Fly-leaf of a Favorite Author, . . 154 

Sonnet, — Poor Heart of Mine, 155 

A Memory, 156 



SACRED VOICES. 

A Thought of Eternity, 159 

Sabbath-Evening Hymn, 161 

The Happy Land, 164 



12 CONTENTS. 

Page 

The Pilgrim,- 167 

Truth, r . 170 

" A Strange Pulpit," 176 

John 21 : 15 - 17, 179 

Musings, 181 

Prayer, 184 

Night Hymn, 186 



VOICES BY THE WAY. 

" "Wishing Bridge," 191 

July Twenty-Seventh, 194 

Kernwood, 193 

« Just Sixteen," 201 

Twilight, 203 

Summer Hymn, 206 

Love's Illusion, 209 

An Impromptu, 212 

Sonnet, — to William R. Dempster, 214 

Sonnet, — written on the Fly-leaf of Wordsworth's Memoirs, . 2L5 

My Grave, 216 

Night, 219 



CONTENTS. 13 

Page 

Strife and Peace, 223 

When I am Old, 227 

Auburn Dale, 231 

The Rain, 233 

Evening, 237 

Autumn Leaves, 240 

The Child's Last Wish, 243 

Hesperus, 245 

The Origin of Dimples, 247 

Sadness, 249 

Truth vs. Custom, 252 



VOICES OF AFFECTION' 



VOICES OF AFFECTION. 



DO THEY MISS ME? 

Do they miss me at home, do they miss me ? 

'Twould be an assurance most dear 
To know that this moment some loved one 

Was saying, " Oh, were she but here ! " 
To know that the group at the fireside 

Were thinking of me as I roam, — 
Oh yes, 'twould be joy beyond measure, 

To know that they missed me at home ! 

When twilight approaches — the season 
That ever was sacred to Song — 

Does some one repeat my name over, 
And sigh that I tarry so long? 
2 



18 UTTEHANCE. 

And is there a chord in the music 

That's missed when my voice is away? 

And a chord in each heart that awaketh 
Regret at my wearisome stay? 

Do they place me a chair near the tahle 

"SVhen evening's home-pleasures are nigh, 
And candles are lit in the parlor, 

And stars in the calm azure sky? 
And when the good-nights are repeated, 

Does each the dear memory keep, 
And think of the absent, and waft me 

A whispered "Good-night" ere they sleep? 

Do they miss me at home, do they miss me, 

At morning, at noon, and at night? — 
And lingers one gloomy shade round them 

That only my presence can light? — 
Are joys less invitingly welcomed. 

And pleasures less dear than before. 
Because one is missed from the circle, — 

Because / am with them no more ? 



VOICES OF AFFECTION. 19 

Oh yes — they do miss me — kind voices 

Are calling me back as I roam, 
And eyes have grown weary with weeping, 

And watch but to welcome me home ! 
Sweet friends, ye shall wait me no longer 

No longer I'll linger behind — 
For how can I tarry while followed 

By watchings and pleadings so kind ? 



20 UTTERANCE 



THE LOVE-WREATH. 



I've twined thee, love, a flow'ry wreath 

To bind upon thy brow, 
And with kind words on every leaf 

I bid it seek thee now. 
I've searched the garden thro' and thro', 

The green-house, grove, and dell. 
And rifled them of half their sweets 

For her I love so well. 
I thought, at least, my gift would be 
A messenger of love to thee. 

And as I plaited tirelessly 

Each leaf, and bud, and flower, 

I smiled to think how sweeter grew 
My labor every hour. 



VOICES OF AFFECTION. 21 

And with each leaf, and flower, and bud, 

I wove a loving thought, 
And hid a kiss in every plait 

My busy fingers wrought, — 
Thinking the while how fair 'twould shine 
Above that sweet, young brow of thine ! 

Methought that from the thousand flowers 

That met my raptured eye, 
I'd cull but those whose names were linked 

With love and purity. 
Dost know the language, sweet, of flowers ? — 

And canst thou read in each, 
The messages I bid them bear. 

And truths I bid them teach ? 
Then study Avell the garland bright 
I've woven with such rare delight. 

First, from the garden's wealth, I stole 

Sweet ^Rose-buds, fresh and fair, 
And '^Myrtle-sprigs, — because the friend 

I cherished was not there. 



22 UTTE RANGE. 

And with the blue ^Forget-fiie-not 

I wove a ^Bay-leaf green, 
"While ^Crocus-flowers and ^Violets 

Came peeping up between ; 
And ^ Pinks and ^Pansies blended there 
With ^Amaranths more rich and rare. 

The '°Star of Bethlehem next I twined 

Among the blooming throng, 
Calm thoughts of Him of whom they breathed 

Stealing my heart along. 
And the sweet "Cherry-bloom was there, 

And leaning on its cheek, 
Lay the pale ^^ Snowball, like a child. 

All trustingly and meek ; 
And from each Avhite and graceful cup 
Methought pure prayer seemed gushing up. 

And ^^Orange-flowers all white and fair, 

And "Lilies, pure as they, 
I sought with studied grace and skill 

Within the wreath to lay; 



VOICES OF AFFECTION. 23 

And young ^^Moss Eose-buds drooped their heads 

So gracefully beside, 
And blushed so sweetly, that I kissed 

The darlings in my pride ! — 
Hoping my friend would like these best, 
And prize them more than all the rest. 

And ^® Honeysuckles twined their slight 

And graceful fingers round, 
And rosy ^''Laurels lovingly 

With ^^ Jasmines interwound; 
Young ^^ Daisies ope'd the long-fringed lids 

Of their sweet, starry eyes, 
Gazing on all the beauty there 

As if in glad surprise ; — 
I thought how very like thine csvn 
With love and happiness they shone! 

And if awhile I dropped the wreath 

To list the caroled glee 
Of some bright bird, it made me think 

So instantly of thee ! 



24 IITTEEANCE. 

Thy ringing tones were in my ear, 
My cheek was close to thine, 

And I could almost feel thee link 
Thy little hand with mine ! 

And when the pleasant dream was o'er, 

I'd turn me to my flowers once more. 

But thou art weary, love, perchance, 

Nor car'st to hear me tell 
Thus tirelessly of blossoms culled 

From green-house, grove, and dell. 
Enough that love has twined them all, 

And given to each a tone 
To tell thee that this trusting heart, 

Though wayward, is thine own ! 
I'm glad that flowers have tongues to tell 
What words could say not half so well ! 

Then take the wreath, and bind it, love, 

Upon thy shining hair, — 
Among those rich, dark curls of thine 

That veil thy forehead fair ; — 



YOICES OF AFFECTION. 25 

And gaze upon thy mirrored face, 

And own how lovelier yet 
My gift has made thee, as it shines 

Among thy curls of jet — 
And if, the while, thy heart run o'er 
With love for me, I'll ask no more. 



NOTES. 

J E.ose-bud — Confession of Love. 

2 Myrtle — Love in Absence. 

3 Forget-me-not — True Love. 

4 Bay-leaf— I Change but in Dying. 
^ Crocus — Smiles. 

6 Violet — Faithfulness. 

7 Pink — Lovely and pure Affection. 

8 Pansy — Tender and pleasant Thoughts, 
s Globe Amaranth — Unchangeable. 

10 Star of Bethlehem — Let us follow Jesus. 

11 Cherry-blossom — Spiritual Beauty. 
15 Snowball — Thoughts of Heaven. 



26 UTTEKANCE. 

'3 Orange-flower — "Woman's Worth. 

14 Lily — Purity and Sweetness. 

15 Moss Rose — Superior Merit. 

16 Honeysuckle — Fidelity. 

17 Laurel — Virtue is True Beauty. 

18 Jasmine — Amiability. 

1^ Daisy — Beauty and Innocence. 



VOICES OFAPFECTIOX. 27 



NAMES. 

" What's in a Name ? " 

Romeo and Juliet. 

I SAT one day in merry mood, 

With friends I loved around me ; 
One with her white arm over mine 

In sweet embrace had bound me ; 
And one with meek and loving eyes, 

And step like any fairy, — 
And yet another, fair and gay, — 

'Twas Ellen, Kate, and Mary. 

" Now prithee tell," said merry Kate, 
With sly and roguish glances. 

Turning to mine her eye that aye 
With mirth and mischief dances, — 



28 UTTERANCE. 

" Now prithee tell which name of all 
The thousands you have heard, love, 

Is dearest, sweetest to your heart, — 
Please tell the magic word, love." 

Then Ellen with her soft, fair hand 

Smoothed back my tumbled tresses. 
And with a sweet and loving smile 

Redoubled her caresses ; 
And murmured, as she kissed my lips, 

" Say, Ellen — do, my Treasure ! " 
I'd half a mind to please the pet. 

But begged one moment's leisure. 

Then Kate, the little merry puss, 

Came stealing up behind me. 
And quick as thought her loving arms 

Had claspingly entwined me ; 
And with a laugh of music-tone 

She whispered, " Please say Kate, love. 
I'd half a mind to, but replied, 

"Nay — not so hasty — wait, love." 



VOICES OF AFFECTION. 29 

I gazed a moment on them each, 

Those three so fair and youthful, 
But longest looked in Mary's eyes, 

So loving, meek, and truthful ! 
They filled with tears — but not a word 

That moment's hush did vary; 
Hers was the sweetest pleading yet — 

I paused, — then murmured — ''Maryf' 



30 XJTTEKANCE. 



TO AT PARTING 

Thou sayest thou wilt ne'er forget, 

That I shall ever be 
A green spot on Life's desert waste, 

A star of love to thee ; — 
A ray to cheer and warm, — and yet, 
Believe it not ; — thou wilt forget ! 

A few short years, perchance, thou'lt keep 

My mem'ry fresh and green, 
Recalling e'en each look of mine 

Without a mist between ; — 
And think 'twill aye be so, — and yet, 
Believe it not ; — thou wilt forget ! 

I've met with friends who've vowed to me 
To love through good and ill, 



YOICES OF AFFECTION. 31 

To cherisli me till Life's warm pulse 

Within their hearts grew still ; 
Forgetting me, oh ne'er ! — and yet, 
Alas, alas, they did forget ! 

My name to them is now like some 

Dim mem'ry of a song 
They used to love to listen to, — 

But that was long since — long : — 
'Tis charmless now, and yet, and yet, 
They said they never would forget. 

A little time, and thou wilt write 

My name all names above ; 
And then, perchance, thou too wilt find 

Some dearer one to love, — 
Some fairer one whom thou hast met. 
And I, — alas, thou wilt forget ! 

Believe it not that I shall live 
Within thy heart for aye : 



32 TJTTEKANCE. 

Recall this weary, parting hour 

Some future, distant day. 
And thou wilt start to find that yet, 
With all thy care, — thou did'st forget ! 



VOICES OFAFPECTION. 33 



THE GIFT. 



She gave me a rose-bud — the latest 

That bloomed on her favorite tree — 
And smilingly said, " 'Tis the last one, 

Yet, dearest, I've culled it for thee." 
I took the sweet gift with a gladness 

That thrilled to my innermost breast, — 
A gladness aroused by that whisper, 

'"Tis thine, love, — the latest and best.'' 

I prize not the favors oft lavished 
AVhere riches and plenty abound, — 

The gift of a blossom when thousands 
Just like it are blooming around ; — 

But when, like this delicate rose-bud. 
Some token of friendship is mine 
3 



34 UTTERANCE. 

All warm with the heart's best devotion, 
Not Ind the sweet gift can outshine. 

Then thanks for thine off 'ring, my own one! 

I'll keep it tho' withered and dead. 
It still breathes a tale of affection 

Altho' its sweet beauty has fled. 
It brings me dear thoughts of the giver. 

And lovingly whispers to me 
Thine own precious words, " 'Tis the last one, 

Yet, dearest, I've culled it for thee ! " 



VOICES OF AFFECTION. 35 



''KISS ME." 

My heart is yearning for the tone 
And smile of a beloved one. 
If she were here, I'd softly say, 
" Dearest, before we part to-day, 

Kiss me ! " 

Dear darling, when my heart is sad. 
And when my pulse beats warm and glad, - 
Whatever be my spirit's tone. 
In crowds together, or alone, 

Kiss me! 

Thus may I ever say to thee : 
" Though other friends may lose for me 
The look of love that once they wore, 
I love thee, darling, more and more ! — 

Kiss me ! " 



36 UTTERANCE 



CARRIE. 

" It must be sweet in childhood to give back 
The spirit to its Maker." Willis. 

Dyinq in beauty — ere sorrow has taken 

One tint from, the rose that lay warm on her cheek ; 

Before the dark shadows that follow Life's morning 
Have shrouded our Blossom so lovely and meek ! 

Dying in beauty — tho' now, alas, wasted. 

Bound were her limbs in their delicate grace ; — 

Fair glowed her cheek with the flush of enjoyment; — 
Bright was the sunshine that laughed in her face. 

Dying in youth — not decrepit and aged. 

Weary and earth-worn and sick of the strife — 

Called to the grave in the morn of existence. 
Summoned to Death, from the threshold of Life ! 



VOICES OF AFFECTION. 37 

Dying in peace : — On her fair, tranquil bosom 
Rest her white fingers, so wasted and thin ; 

Over her features a calm smile is straying, 
Type of the peace of God reigning within. 

Dying beloved — not unwept and uncared-for ; — 
Tears fall in showers on the face of the child 

Under the snowy sheet dreaming so peacefully. 
Meeting strange Death with an aspect so mild ! 

Breathe in her ear the dear hymns of her childhood 
When she awakes from her death-like repose ; 

Press on her forehead sweet kisses of fondness, 
Place in her bosom a half-blossomed rose. 

Smile on her pleasantly — tell her not gloomily 
Death, the grim tyrant, is coming anon ; — 

Say to her, " Darling, an angel is waiting, 
Eager to take thee where Jesus has gone." 

Gently and quietly smooth down her pillow, 
Gather fresh roses to lay in her hand ; 

Soon will her weary soul, loosed and unfettered, 
Plume its faint wing for the sweet spirit-land ! 



38 TJTTEKANCE. 

Dim o'er her forehead, her white, dewy forehead, 
Cluster the shadowy waves of her hair, — 

Smooth them not, tho' it be never so tenderly, — 
Leave them untouched in their loveliness there. 

Close on her cheek lie her fair, blue-veined eyelids, 
Hiding the beauty that slumbers beneath, — 

Tremulous now with the throbbings of weakness ; 
Soon they will rest in the quiet of death ! 

Peace to thy slumber, thou lovely and stricken one. 
Peace — tho' thou wake from it only to die. 

Strange that the spoiler should breathe on such freshness ! 
Strange that such beauty in darkness should lie ! 

Gently and quietly smooth down her pillow, 
Gather fresh roses to lay in her hand ; 

Soon will her happy soul, loosed and unfettered. 
Plume its white wing for the sweet spirit-land. 

Dying in childhood — in peace and in beauty, — 
Dying with love o'er the dark way to shine, — 

"Who, thou sweet child, while they wept, would not envy ? 
Who would not wish for an exit like thine? 



YOICES OF AFFECTION. 39 



THE PORTRAIT, 



AN INCIDENT. 



I MET her in a shady dell 
One pleasant summer day, — 

A fair, bewitching, smiling child, 
With buds and flowers at play : 

I started back in quick surprise, 

And pressed my hands on both my eyes ! 

I scarcely could believe my sight ! — 

That sweet one in her glee. 
So beautiful and pure — so like, 

So very like to thee, — 
It seemed as though thine own dear face 
Were raised to mine in childish grace ! 

There was the same unwritten brow, — 
The same dark-fring-ed lid, — 



40 UTTERANCE. 

The same blue eyes that smiled beneath, 

Like violets half hid ; — 
And lips just parted, — so like thine, 
I bent to press them close to mine. 

And dimples played upon her cheek, 
And curls of soft brown hair ; 

Awhile I fancied 'twas no dream 
That held me breathless there, — 

Forgetting years had passed away 

Since we were little ones at play. 

Long, troubled years — and Time since then 

Has written change on each, 
And taught us many a weary thing 

That Time alone can teach. 
They say I should not know thee now 
With thy changed face and altered brow. 

The bloom has vanished from thy cheek, 
And left it pale as snow; 



VOICES OF AFFECTION. 41 

I cannot think of thee, my friend, 

Disguised and altered so ? 
I cannot picture thee as years 
Have made thee with their wand of tears ! 

I can recall thee but as when 

We parted long ago. 
My Beautiful ! how very fair 

I thought thee in thy woe, — 
Thy drooping, shadowy eyes all wet 
With tears of sadness and regret, — 

Thy warm cheek resting on my own, — 
Thy quick breath meeting mine, — 

And thy rich curls — alas, no more 
Bewitchingly they shine ! 

I could not twine them now, as then, 

With flower-buds from the grassy glen! 

My early Friend, my Beautiful, 
My Own, my Unforgot, 



42 UTTERANCE. 

To other eyes thou may'st be changed, 

To me thou changest not ; 
I see thee after years have past, 
As fair as when I saw thee last. 

I see thee in my nightly dreams ; — 

Thou comest in my sleep, 
Lifting thy calm, pure face to mine. 

All beautiful and meek ; 
With just the glance of that sweet child 
I met in yonder valley wild. 

I would that I could meet again 
That fair and smiling girl ; — 

I know she stole her lips from thee. 
Her radiant brow and curl ; — 

I know, at least, there could not be 

More perfect portraiture of thee ! 



TOICES OFAPFECTIOX. 43 



TO .... 

I've felt so many lips grow cold, 

That once prest mine with love's warm token, 
I've known so many vows decay, 

Almost before the words were spoken, — 
I've seen so many friends, once dear. 

Pass me with cold, averted eye, — 
That I have almost learned to doubt 
The strength of human constancy. 

Yet still I turn to thee, sweet friend. 

And with a love now warm and glowing, 

I place this trusting hand in thine. 

With it, the while, my heart bestowing. 

And yet, perhaps, we two shall grow 
Unfriendly in the lapse of years ! 

But wherefore speak I thus ? — Forgive — 

My heart is full — my eyes o'erflow with tears ! 



44 IJTTEilANCE 



THE MYSTIC HARP. 



The human Heart — it is a strange 

And a mysterious thing ; 
An instrument of wondrous pov/er, — 

Each pulse a trembling string. 
And hourly on this mystic Harp 

Play the great hands of Time, — 
Drawing strange discords from its strings 

Or melody sublime. 

He bids pale Sorrow touch the chords, 
And sobbing sounds are heard ; 

He summons Joy — and quick the notes 
Are gleeful as a bird ! 

He calls rude Anger, and her hands 
Sweep wildly o'er the strings, 



TOICES OFArrECTION. 45 

And oft to try this mystic Harp 
Love and Regret lie brings. 

Be thine a sweet ^olian Harp 

Touched by the winds alone, 
Which, be they rough or gentle, draw 

The same melodious tone. 
Then, though old Time assault it oft 

With breezes rough and high, 
Thy heart shall know but one response, — 

Sweet, tuneful melody ! 



46 XJTTEKANCE. 



TO .... IN ABSENCE. 

I HATE been gazing on the stars, 
That like sweet angels' eyes 

Are smiling on me from their homes 
In the far distant skies ; — 

So lovingly their glances shine, 

I cannot choose but think of thine. 

I have been looking at the flowers, 
And stealing from their bloom 

Full many a sweet delicious breath. 
All laden with perfume ; — 

But not a flower's soft lips met mine, 

That did not make me think of thine. 

I'm out upon the hills to woo 
The cooling breezes now ; — 



VOICES OF AFFECTION. 47 

How soothingly the soft winds lay 

Their light hands on my brow ! — 
I start as if thine own were there, 
Parting the tresses of my hair ! 

A dark curl floats upon the breeze, 

And laughing tones are nigh, — 
I know they are not thine, — and yet, 

I fancy thou art by ; — 
For not one pleasant thing I see. 
Or hear, but makes me think of thee ! 

I'm glad my spirit links thy name 

With every gladsome sight, — 
I'm glad I cannot hear a sound 

That fills me with delight. 
But that I feel thy soul is nigh, 
Haunting that same sweet melody. 

I would not change these happy thoughts 
That glad me night and day. 



48 UTTERANCE. 

That make thee ever near my side, 

Tho' absent far away : — 
Only thy living presence nigh, 
Can bid these pleasant fancies fly. 

'Till then I'll meet in every star, 
Thine own sweet, earnest gaze, — 

Thy breath in every flower, — thy touch, 
In each soft wind that plays — 

And link with every pleasant tone. 

Some treasured cadence of thine own. 



VOICES OF AFFECTION. 49 



DREAMS. 

I HAVE dreams of a fair little cot of our own 

Where Love and Contentment shall smile ; 
Of a form that is near me when daylight is done, 

And a hand in my own all the while ; 
I have dreams of a casement thrown up to the night, 

With roses and vines peeping thro' ; 
And while I am dreaming these dreams of delight, 

I'm all the time thinking — of you ! 
4 



50 UTTERANCE. 



ROSABELLE. 

A THING all life and sunshine, 

A glad and happy child, 
With spirits ever changing, 

Half earnest and half wild ; 
As fleet a little fairy 

As ever graced a dell, 
Or frolicked in a blossom, 

Is our sweet Rosabelle. 

I wish that you could meet her ! 

Her clear and happy eyes 
"Would break upon your vision 

Like light from Paradise ! 
You'd know her in a moment — 

You could' n't help it well — 
For there's no other like her — 

Our own, dear Rosabelle, 



TOICES OF AFFECTI01S-. 51 

Her brow is just as open, 

And sunny as the day ; 
And curls are dancing o'er it, 

In their unfettered play. 
Ah ! loveliness and beauty 

Have thrown their brightest spell 
Around our darling blossom — 

Our witching Rosabelle ! 

Her mouth is made for kisses, 

And when she lifts her face, 
She seems to ask the tribute. 

With her unconscious grace. 
Her lips are ripe and glowing, 

"With just that pouting swell 
That painters love to copy — 

Our peerless Rosabelle ! 

Her voice is soft and child-like, 

Yet gleeful as a bird's ; 
I love to list the cadence 

Of her half- warbled words. 



52 XTTTEKANCE. 

Her laugh is like the music 
Of some sweet silver bell ; 

I hear it in the passage, 
And know 'tis Rosabelle. 

A thing all life and sunshine, 

A glad and happy child, 
With spirits ever changing, 

Half earnest and half wild ; 
As fleet a little fairy 

As ever graced a dell. 
Or frolicked in a blossom, 

Is our sweet Rosabelle ! 



TOICES OPArPECTION. 53 



A HEART-THOUGHT. 

I LOVE thee, oh so dearly ! Never flowers 
Turned with such passionate fondness to the sun 
As I to thee, my treasure ! I, the flower, 
And thou, the warm, bright sun ! 



54 UTTERANCE. 



"FAIL ME NOT TnOU." 

Fail me not thou ! — How dark would be 
This heart without thy love and truth ! — 

I could not teach it to forget 
The happy lessons of its youth ; 

I could not bid it think of thee 

Less warmly or less constantly. 

Fail me not thou ! — I could not bear 
To have thy tones less kind than now ; 

And oh, I could not see thee wear 
An altered look upon thy brow — 

Twould be to me a fearful thing 

Thus in the dust my hopes to fling! 

Fail me not thou ! — Thou could'st not find 
A truer heart to cling to thee 



VOICES OF AFFECTION. 55 

Through joy and grief, than has been mine, 

Nor one that loved more earnestly ; 
For art thou not my life, my pride? — 
Dearer than all the earth beside ? 

Fail me not thou ! — Oh, I have poured 
My heart's whole treasure upon thine, 

And deemed that Heaven could not afford 
One joy like this — to call thee mine ! 

'Twas sinful thus to bow the knee 

With such idolatry to thee ! 

Fail me not thou ! — For I did learn 
Too well the lessons thou hast taught; 

It did not need a teacher stern 

To do the work thy hand has wrought ; 

For thou did'st talk of love, and I 

Listened, alas, too willingly. 

Then fail me not ! — My heart would be 
So sad without thy love and truth ! — 



56 TJTTEIIANCE. 

I could not teach it to forget 

The happy iesF ons of its youth ; 
I could not bid it think of thee 
liess warmly or less constantly ! 



"VOICES OF AFFECTION. 57 



A SISTER'S MEMORY. 

My sister, my own sister, 

How desolate seem the years 
Since last we said good-bye to thee 

Amid our falling tears ! 
God called thee to a stranger land, 

To bless a stranger shore, 
To live — nay, die for other hearts ; 

— Thou wilt return no more ! 

My sister, my own sister. 

It seems so like a dream 
That we may never meet again 

Thine eye's soft, shadowy gleam ! 
Thou wast the fairest of us all, 

The loveliest of the band, — 
God chose the sweetest flower to plant 

Within the better land. 



58 TTTTERANCE. 

I know 'tis only fancy, 

But sometimes, even now, 
I think I see thy calm, sweet face, 

And press thine earnest brow. 
Again my hand is linked with thine 

Just as it used to be, 
And we are bounding side by side, 

As in those days of glee. 

And then my heart grows calmer, 

And sweet tears fill my eyes, 
Although the while I stand and gaze 

Upon the far-off skies ; 
I know thy home is there — I know 

How happy thou must be. 
And yet the tears will fill my eyes 

Whene'er I think of thee. 

My sister, my own sister, 
They say that I am gay — 

That I've forgotten her they laid 
In the cold earth away — 



TOICES OF AFFECTION. 59 

'Tis true my laugh will sometimes ring 

With its old tone of glee, 
Bnt only when my girlish thoughts 

One moment turn from thee. 

Oh, often when the twilight 

"With sorrowing step draws nigh, 
And stars are stealing one by one 

Like spirits o'er the sky, 
I hasten to thy quiet room, 

(They do not know I'm there,) 
Thy little quiet room, and pour 

My weary heart in prayer. 

My sister, my own sister, 

It seems a holier place 
Than any spot besides on earth, 

For all the while thy face 
Seems looking fondly into mine 

With that meek, earnest gaze 
It used to wear when thou wast here 

In other, sunnier days. 



60 UTTERANCE. 

My sister, mj^ own sister, 

How happy were we then ! 
— And yet my spirit does not love 

To call it back again. 
I think of quick, ungentle words, 

And looks unkindly given. 
And wonder if they grieve thee now 

That thou hast passed to heaven. 

Alas, my own, sweet sister, 

If thou wast with me now. 
How soothingly I'd part thy hair 

And bathe thine aching brow ! — 
I'd cull for thee my fairest flowers, 

And sing my sweetest song. 
And sit beside thee all the day, 

And watch the whole night long. 

But God has called thee, darling, 
To better things above, 

And all that's left us now are these 
Sweet mem'ries of thy love. 



VOICES OF AFFECTION. 61 

And this dear legacy shall be 

A liiik in that blest chain 
By which our souls one day shall rise 

To dwell with thine again. 



62 UTTERANCE. 



A SISTER'S GRAVE. 

She sleeps beneath a glorious sky, 
The blue dome of the palmy East ; 

Above her troops of stars go by, 

And when their wondrous dance has ceased, 

The first, warm kisses of the sun 

Fall gently on our sleeping one. 

Afar from noise, remote from strife, 
She lies who was our loye and pride ; 

Meek, gentle, quiet in her life. 

Like peace in death is not denied; 

And her last sleep is undisturbed 

By tumult from the noisy herd. 

Rest, dear one, in thy far-off bed, — 
The grieving night-dews o'er thee weep, 



YOICES OF AFFECTION. 63 

But flowers are round thee, and o'erhead, 

The warm, bright stars their vigils keep. 
'Tis beautiful to know that thou 
Art sleeping in such quiet now ! 

The Mussulman may breathe a curse 
Perchance above the blossoming sod, 

Where the dear flower our love did nurse 
Waits the transplanting of her God ; 

But in a thousand hearts beside. 

Sweet thoughts are linked with her who died. 

With her who died — -but not before 

The mission of her life was done ; 
'Twas hers to win the wand'rer o'er 

And point him to the Bleeding One ; 
To pour on eyelids wrapped in night 
The radiance of the gospel light. 

To teach the untaught, to lead the lame, 
To breathe upon the dull deaf ear 



64 TJTTEEAT^CE. 

The music of a Saviour's name ; 

To guide the weak, the faint to cheer ; 
And, in her every act, to show 
What love could do for God below. 

Sleep, dear one, — we may never gaze 
Upon the mound that marks thy rest, 

But we shall meet thee face to face 
In God's dear kingdom, and be blest ; 

And so we leave thee to thy sleep, 

With eyes that smile as well as weep. 



VOICES OF AFFECTION. 65 



MARY. 

Lay lier hands evenly on her breast, 
And leave her to her rest — 
She was of Heaven — not of Earth — 
God called her from her birth. 

Stay — let me look on her once more ; — 
How calm, and pale, and still she lies ! 

She never looked like this before — 
I remember how in her eyes 
A sudden flash of mirth would rise, — 

And how, around those lips so pale, 

Would float and then exhale 

Love's warmest and most tremulous sighs. 
And now she lies, 

As I have said, 

All pale, and calm, and cold, and dead ! 
5 



66 TJTTEEANCE. 

Oh, I could weep, 

Only she lies in such a holy sleep ! 

So fair and still, 

That if I wept 'twould be against my will. 



So lay her hands evenly on her breast, 
And leave her to her rest ; 
She was of Heaven — not of Earth — 
God called her from her birth. 



But no ! — fold back the snow-white sheet - 
Not half so white as her marble brow — 

How lovely in her slumber sweet. 
Looks the pale Dreamer now ! 

Dreamer? — oh no — her dreams are done! 

The latest and the fairest one 

She woke from, when she gave her hand 

Unto the waiting angel-band 

Who led her into the heavenly land. 



VOICES OF AFFECTION. 67 

What a bright waking 't must have been, 

Free from sorrow, free from sin ! 

Tho', of a truth, she little knew 

Of sorrow, for her griefs were few ; 

And, for her sins — God knows them all — 

But to us they look scant and small. 

She was always good and mild 

From being a little child — 

A little child — I see her now, 

A fair, bright, little child again, — 

With a warm, glorious brow, 

And a smile that flitted now. and then 
Over her features, like the gleam 

Of moonlight on the snow, 
Only a kindlier, warmer beam ; — 

But that was years ago : 
And now how uselessly I dream ! — 
For never will her features more 
Wear the old look — the look they wore 
In those bright days of yore, 
Those blessed, blessed days of yore ! 



68 ITTTEIIANCE. 

So lay her hands evenly on her breast, 
And leave her to her rest ; 
She was of Heaven — not of Earth — 
God called her from her birth ! 



TOICES OF AFFECTION. 69 



SONNET. 

Like the first star that heralds glorious EA'e, — 

Like the first blush that beckons in the Day, — 
Like the first snow-drop lavish Aprils weave 
To deck the bosom of the festive May, — 
Like the warm carol of the early bird 
Whose note was mute before or idly heard, — 
Like all dear things just bursting, — like the bloom 
Of the fresh rose-bud rending its green tomb, — 
So burst thy love upon my helpless life, 
Dear Mother, when that hour of pain and strife 
That laid me in thine arms, gave place to tears 
Of exquisite, sweet joy and holy fears ! 
Thy love, dear Mother, warmed me into birth, 
Nor shall its ray depart while either dwell on earth ! 



YOICES OF CHEEE 



VOICES OF CHEER. 



TRY 



At least, I'll try ! There never yet 

Was anything lost by trying ; 
And, if I fail, what matters it ? — 

There's still no room for a useless sighing. 
I'll prove whatever within me lies 

That's worth the pains to find it ; 
Since, where I fail, it is surely best 

To know the lack tho' I may not mind it. 

Life has a secret that all might guess 
"With a little care and trouble, — 

There's never a Lion in the way, 

But a faint heart always sees it double. 



74 TJTTEEAN-CE. 

Up ! faint heart, witli the strength thou hast ! 

One at the act will vanish, 
And, for the other, there's strength enow 

To battle the beast if thou canst not banish. 

" Stretch forth thine hand," said the Christ divine 

To the withered, sick Judean, 
— And the brave man lifted a palm restored, 

In sight of the gracious Galilean ! 
" Stretch forth thine hand," is the mandate still, 

Spite of its guilty weakness — 
Courage and firm Faith, Christ-like, heal 

The palsied palm that is raised in meekness. 

Lifted in meekness, but not in doubt ; 

Raised with a brave endeavor ; 
Lifted to grapple with Sloth and Sin ; 

Raised with a purpose faltering never ! 
Heaven and Justice and Truth will help 

The soul thus firm and fearless. 
Granting at length in the noble end, 

A great, brave victory, strong and tearless ! 



"VOICES OF CHEER. 75 



AN INCIDENT. 

Sarah paused anear tlie window, 

Gathered up her baby form, 
And with pleased, incredulous wonder, 

Gazed upon the wintry storm. 
Slowly fell the glittering snow-flakes, 

One by one, like blossoms fair 
Rifled from some bower of roses 

By the covetous, summer air ; — 
Nearer drew the child, her eyes 
Dilating with a large surprise. 

"Flowers!" at length she murmurs softly, 

Upward gazing all the while. 
Till the fancy warms her features 

With a bright, exulting smile. 
Bravo ! she has solved the problem 

To her otvn sweet faith, at least, 



76 UTTEKANCE. 

And she hugs the dear illusion 

Till the glittering show has ceased ; 

Seeing only in the storm 

Summer blossoms fresh and warm ! 

Darling, show my heart the lesson ; — 

When Life's dreary tempests rise, 
Teach me how to stand and face them 

With thy hopeful, happy eyes ! — 
In each trial well surmounted 

Finding germs of future bliss, 
Till I reach that happier dwelling, 

Where, in looking back, on this, 
I shall see Life's stormiest hours 

Wove for me but sweetest flowers ! 



TOICES or CHEER. 77 



" Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the 
oi-ning." Psalms. 

E,OTJSE thee, child of sorrow, 

Lay thy sadness by ; 
Look ! — a brighter morrow 

Dawneth in the sky. 
Night is passing over, 

Vanishing away ; 
Rouse thee to discover 

Signs of coming day. 

Wherefore weeping ever, 

Eyes bent on the ground ? 
See ! look upward ! — never 

Played such light around ! 
What in all this gladness 

O'er thee kindly spread, 
Seest thou for sadness ? 

— Lone one, lift thy head. 



78 TJTTE RANGE 



True the Past looks dreary, 



True the night was long, 



True thy heart is weary, 
All untuned to song. 

But why look behind thee ? - 
Wherefore yield to grief ? - 

Tears can never find thee 
Comfort or relief. 

Bid the " dead Past " hurry 

With his phantoms grim 
Far away — and bury. 

Bury them and Him ! 
Sepulchre thy weakness, 

Lay it all away, — 
And in trusting meekness 

Wait the coming day. 

Selfish is the sorrow 

That refuses balm. 
Loth from Heaven to borrow 

Happiness and calm ; — 



VOICES OF CHEER. 79 

Evil is the spirit 

That will ne'er look up, 
When some friend to cheer it 

Lifts the soothing cup. 

Rouse thee then from weeping, 

Rouse thee from regret ; 
List the Future's teaching, — 

" Rally and forget ! " 
Strong for coming sorrow 

If 't must needs he so, 
Hope that each to-morrow 

Brighter signs will show. 



80 ITTTEEANCE. 



A LESSON. 

SiiOWLY to my sleepless eyelids crept the hours of 

night away, 
Till athwart the shrouded windows stole the dawning 

of the day. 

Deep unquiet filled my bosom — all God's ways seemed 

dark and blind, 
All his dealings with my spirit strangely hidden and 

unkind. 

Wearily I raised the curtain, for my heart was full 

of gloom, 
\Vhen a host of golden sunbeams swept like magic 

thro' the room ! — 

Lighting up the dismal hangings, sparkling on the 
dear old wall, 



VOICES or CHEER. 81 

Shedding sucli a blessed radiance, such a glory over 
all! 

Every shadow from my chamber with my lifted curtain 

fled, 
Leaving only golden sunbeams, Heaven's dear sunshin& 

there instead. 

Then I thought how o'er my spirit hung the folds of 

doubt and sin, 
Shutting out Heaven's blessed sunshine that would else 

come crowding in. 

And my heart grew warm and trustful where it was so 

cold before, 
And the ways of God no longer such a guise of 

sternness wore. 

Silently His blessed angels swept the curtain from my 

soul. 
And the sunlight of His Presence over all my being 

stole. 

6 



82 UTTERANCE. 

For the angels hover nearest, where the darkest 

shadows fall, 
But for quiet trust and patience looking ere they lift 

the pall. 

Therefore, oh ye worn and weary, sad like me, and 

faithless too. 
Wait in patience, nothing doubting that the dear God 

waits with you, — 

Eager to uplift the sorrows when its gracious end is 

Avon, 
When the spirit, stilled and conquered, breathes " Thy 

will, not mine, be done ! " 



VOICES OF CHEER. 



TRUST TO THE FUTURE. 

Trust to tlie Future ; — Tho' gloomy and cheerless, 

Prowls the dark Past like a ghost at thy back, 
Look not behind thee ; — be hopeful and fearless ; 
Steer for the right way, and keep to the track ! 
Fling off Despair, — it has strength like a giant — 
Shoulder thy Purpose, and, boldly defiant, 
Save to the Eight stand unmoved and unpliant ! 
Faith and God's promise the brave never lack. 

Trust to the Future ; — The Present may fright thee. 
Scowling so fearfully close at thy side ; 

Face it unmoved, and no Present can blight thee — 
He who stands boldly each blast shall abide. 

Never a storm but the tainted air needs it, 

Never a storm but the sunshine succeeds it ; 

Each has a lesson, and he alone reads it 

Kightly, who takes it and makes it his guide. 



84 I7TTEEANCE. 

Trust to the Future ; — It stands like an angel, 
Waiting to lead thee, to bless and to cheer ; 
Singing of hope like some blessed Evangel, 

Luring thee on to a brighter career. 
'\\Tiy should the Past or the Present oppress thee r 
Stamp on their coils, for, with arms to caress thee. 
See, the great Future stands yearning to bless thee ; 
Press boldly forward, nor yield to a fear ! 

Trust to the Future ; — It vrill not deceive thee, 

So thou but meet it with brave heart and strong ; 
Now begin living anew, and, believe me. 

Gladness and Triumph will follow ere long. 
Never a night but there cometli a morrow. 
Never a grief but the hopeful will borrow 
Something of gladness to lighten the sorrow ; 
Life unto such is a conqueror's song ! 

Trust to the Future, then ; — Cease from your weeping ; 

Faith and a firm heart are all that you need — 
God and his angels have yet in their keeping 

Harvests of joy if we'll sow but the seed! 



YOICES OFCHEEE. 85 

Trust to the Future, — all life will be glorious ; 
Trust, — for in trusting the soul is victorious ; 
Trust, — and in trusting be strong and laborious ; 
Up and be doing, and give God the meed ! 



A VOICE FOR THE POOR. 



A VOICE FOR THE POOR. 



Put out. the light 

And look into the night. 
Eaise the curtain high and higher, 
Quench the glare of the blinding fire, 
So may we look to our hearts' desire 

Into the night ! — 
Into the face of the black, black night. 

What a sight ! — 
Earth seems maddened with affright ! 
Hear the wild AVind shrieking, roaring, 
Mercy from the Storm imploring. 
The merciless Storm, that never hears 
The wild Wind pleading in his ears, 
Praying for a little space, 
A little slackeninor in the race. 



90 UTTEEANCE. 

But the pitiless sleet keeps flying on 

Here and there and everj'where, 

Challenging the weary air 
To another race now this is won. 
Merciless Storm, we pray thee, hark 

To the wild Wind's praying ; 
Listen thro' the dreary dark 

To what his pleading lips are saying : 

*'0h, the Poor, 

The Poor and Old, 

On the moor 

And on the wold, — 
How desolate they are to-night and cold ! 
— I have been 
To the cottage in the glen ; 
I whirled around the crazy shed 
"Where the children were all a-bed. 
And I could hear them moan and weep, 
For they could not sleep. 

* We cannot sleep,' said they, 

* Father is out on the stormy bay, 



A VOICE FOR THE POOR. 91 

And the night is dark and the sea is deep ; 

Would God that it were day ! ' 
'What more the little children said 

I cannot say, 

For I stopped my ears and whirled away 
To pray in thine instead 

For a little space, 

A little slackening in the race, 
That so the weeping children may 

Behold again the father's face. 
Returning with the morning's ray 
Back from the stormy bay." 



But the merciless sleet keeps flying on 

Here and there and everywhere, 

Challenging the weary air 
To another race now this is won. 
Merciless Storm, we pray thee, hark 

To the wild Wind's praying ; 
Listen thro' the dreary dark 

To what his pleading lips are saying : 



92 U TTE RANGE. 

" Oh, the Poor, 

The Poor and Old, 
On the moor 
, And on the wold, — 
How desolate they are to-night and cold! 
— I met a Traveller on the hill — 
An old man, faint and very chill — 
Hoary with age, and hoarier still 
With the white, blinding snow 
That over his hoary locks did blow. 
Pity the Traveller old and gray ! 
May-be he has pushed all day 

Thro' the driving storm and sleet ; 
May-be he has lost his way, 
And his shivering feet. 
How they must long and ache to greet 
The glowing fireside's genial heat ! 
Pity the Traveller old and gray, 
Pity the faint old man, I pray." 

But the merciless sleet keeps flying on 
Here and there and everywhere, 



A YOICE FOU THE POOR. 93 

Challenging the weary air 
To another race now this is won. 
Merciless Storm, we pray thee, hark 

To the w^ild Wind's praying. 
Listen thro' the dreary dark 

To what his pleading lips are saying : 

"Oh, the Poor, 

The Poor and Old, 
On the moor 

And on the wold, — 
How desolate they are to-night and cold ! 
— I peeped into the broken panes. 
Where the snow, and sleet, and rains 
Of many a weary year have stolen. 
Till the sashes are smeared, and soaked, and swollen. 
Little children with tangled hair. 
And lips awry and feet half bare, 

Huddled around the smouldering fire. 
Like beasts half crouching in their lair; 

While each, the while, by stealth drew nigher, 
CoTetous of the other's share. 



94 TJTTEKANCE. 

Oh, 'twas a pitiful sight to see ! 
And mothers too were there, 

With infants shivering on their knee, 
Or closer held with a mother's care. 
Or laid to rest v/ith a hurried prayer, 
A moan, half hope and half despair, 
A muttered, * Pitiless Storm, forbear ! ' " 

But the merciless sleet keeps flying on 
Here and there and everywhere, 
Challenging the weary air 
To another race now this is won. 
Yet over all, thro' sleet and rain, 
I seem to hear this low refrain. 
This sobbing, desolate, direful strain : 

"Oh, the Poor, 

The Poor and Old, 
On the moor 

And on the wold, — 
How desolate they are to-night and cold ! ' 
And I sit and muse at my window still, 



A YOICE FOK THE POOR. 95 

And strain my eyes to the distant hill 
In search of the Traveller old and chill ; 
For I long to brush from his shivering form 
The angry curse of the hoary Storm, 
And take him in from the snow and sleet, 
And wrap his aching feet 
In soft, old moccasins, snug and warm. 
And fain too would I go 
Thro' the drifted banks of snow. 

To the crazy shed in the dismal glen. 
Where the children are moaning so. 
And whisper words of hope and cheer. 
How that the Storm, tho' bleak and drear, 
Perchance by morning light will clear, 

Bringing the father home again. 
And in the alleys and wet lanes 

Where freezing children huddle together, 
'Twere almost worth my pains 

To face this desperate weather. 
If but the wish to show them good 
Would pile on the blazing wood 
And give them shelter, and clothes, and food! 



96 TJTTEEANC E . 

But here I sit at my window still, 
With nothing to show but a hearty will 
And earnest longing to help them each, 
Tho' far beyond my reach ; 
"V^Hiile still the "Wind's low, sobbing strain 
Keeps smiting my ear with its sad refrain : 



" Oh, the Poor, 

The Poor and Old, 
On the moor. 

And on the wold, — 
How desolate they are to-night and cold ! " 
And I think how sadly to us all 
Wails up this universal call 
From God's great earth in heat or cold, 

In bright or blustering weather, — 
For each his brother's hand should hold, 
And all should hope and strive together 
As equal sons of one great Father. 
God knows there is enough of care 
For each to have his share ! — 



A VOICE FOR THE POOR. 97 

Enough, alas, of crime and sin. 

Not loved perchance nor gloried in, 

But born of Poverty and Woes 

The rich man never knows, — 

Enough to make us all forbear, — 

Enough to urge our warmest powers 

In gladdening this poor world of ours, — 

In sowing it with golden seeds 

Of generous Resolves and Deeds, — 

In scattering sunshine all around. 

Alike on rich and fallow ground. 

So would this earth be nearer God, — 

Till, throwing its warm life abroad, 

'Twould blossom to the very skies, 

A Harvest of glad Prophecies ! 

The Aloe of the patient Centuries ! 



MoEisriKG ! — 'tis the glorious morning 
Fling the curtain folds aside. 

Toss a-back the heavy shutter. 
Ope the casement wide. 
7 



98 TJTTEEAXCE. 

Ha ! the air is keen and icy, 

Scattering gems with every breeze, 

^^^lere the strong, rejoicing sunlight 
Gilds the frosted trees. 

Scores of active human beings 
Press the busy streets along, 

While I linger by my casement, 
Ere I join the throng. 

All are rising — all are stirring — 
Each with jSrm or loitering tread ; 

All — except the sick and helpless, 
And the silent dead ! 

Here, a crowd of tradesmen, hastening 
To the busy mart or stand ; 

There, a swarm of idlers lounging, 
Curses in the land. 

Yonder goes a group of maidens — 
Merry, laughing girls — with eyes. 



A. VOICE FOR THE POOH. 99 

Some as black as midnight, others 
Bluer than the skies. 

Close behind them skulks a being — 
Squalid, meager, hunger-pinched — 

'Neath whose woes the sternest, stoutest 
Spirit would have flinched : 

Woes of poverty and hardship — 

Woes of hunger, pain, and cold — 
Woes whose only cure is silver — 

Only healer, gold. 

Night brings sweet, forgetful slumber ; 

Hunger wakens with the Morn ; 
Oh ! a deal of heart-sick trouble 

With the Day is born ! 

Ay, the weary Poor — "God help them " — 

^Vhat to tlie7n is Morning's bloom, 
'\Vhen it only shows them faces 

Sharpening for the tomb ? — 



100 TIT TE BANC E. 

Human faces, loved and cherished — 
Beings, partners of their blood — 

Wife and children — sickening, pining, 
All for want of food ! 

How their very bones are starting 
Where the flesh has shrunk away ! 

How their hungry eyes are growing 
Wilder every day. 

How they gather round the embers 
Kindled to the last, faint glow, 

While the liope intliin grows dimmer 
As the flame gets low ! 

" Ah," they cry, " an' it were summer. 
Pain and want we might endure ; 

But in winter time 'tis wretched, 
Wretched to be poor ! " 

Oh ! how strange a thing, and dreadful, 
That, upon this great, wide earth, 



A. VOICE FOa THE POOK. 101 

Stored with plenty, soni3 should suffer 
Such a constant dearth ! 

God in heaven has not ordained it ; 

Man on earth has willed it so, 
Eager for the wealth whose purchase 

Is a brother's woe. 

Oh ! ye Rich, who grind the faces 

Of the Weary, Poor, and Old, 
Coining human flesh and sinews, 

In your thirst for gold — 

Who has given you right to squander 
Strength and vigor not your own ? 

Whence your claim to thrive and fatten 
On a poor man's groan ? 

Labor is the poor man's " birthright ; " 

But for aye must it be sold 
For a paltry " mess of pottage," 

When its worth is gold ? 



102 UTTERANCE. 

Out upon your sordid meanness ! 

Out upon your coward birth ! 
Sure, than ye, more craven beings 

Xever walked God's earth ! 

But the mists of Morn have vanished 
'Neath the garish light of Day, 

And the busy crowd has melted 
With the frost away ; 

Still I linger by my casement. 
Drinking in the stirring breeze ; 

Oh ! that all, like me, were happy ! — 
All, like me, at ease ! 

Sighing thus I shut my casement, 
Turn me to my open door — 

Sadder, yet a wiser, better 
Being than before. 



A VOICE FOR THE POOH. 103 



Blow the fire cheerily, 
Bid the flames merrily 

Crackle and glow; 
Hear how the winds without, 
Keep up their dismal shout, 
Blowing the sleet about, 

Tossing the snov/. 

Here it is cheery warm, 

"Why should we heed the storm ? 

We have a fire. 
See the flames glancing, 
Sparkling and prancing, 
Merrily dancing 

Higher and higher ! 

Still, it is bitter cold ! 
God help the Poor and Old 
On this drear night ; 



104 UTTE RANG P:. 

Freezing and sighing, 
Chilled and half crying, 
Stiff 'ning and dying ; — 
What a sad sight I 

See how they gather 
Closer together, 
Bemoaning the weather, 

Quiv'ring with pain. 
How their teeth chatter 
With a dull clatter. 
Just like the patter 

Of merciless rain. 

Ah me ! how very numb 
Finger and stiffened thumb ! 
Yet the blue lips are dumb, 

Utt'ring no groan ; 
Limbs grooving rigid. 
Breath all too frigid 

Even to moan ! 



A VOICE FOR THE POOK. 105 

What a soul-sick'ning sight, 
On this relentless night, 

Savage with storm ! 
Father and mother, 
Sister and brother, 
Hugging each other. 

All to get ivarm ! 

Ah, that it should be so, 
God of the cold and snow ! 
Would He might help their woe ; 

He only can. 
Dying by inches, — 
How the cold pinches ! 
Every nerve flinches 

In the stern man. 



Horrid ! — but must they die 
Is there no other nigh. 
None but the God on high. 
Help to bestow r 



106 UTTERANCE. 

— Does He not tell us 
We should be zealous, 
Yea, even anxious, 
Pity to show ? 

Shall we sit idly by, 
Seeing them freeze and die ; 
Yet for our apathy 

Feeling unchid ? 
Frozen eyes staring. 
Wild and despairing, 
Horribly glaring 

From the stiff lid ! 

No ! — 'twere insanity, 
Wild inhumanity, 
Startling inanity. 

Conduct like tliis ! 
Unworthy our stations. 
Our mutual relations, 
Deserving whole nations' 

Perpetual hiss ! 



AYOICE FOE, THE POOH. 107 

Let us act nobly then ; 
Let us be Christian men, 
Striving with voice and pen, 

Warmth to secure, 
To those who ever 
Will bless our endeavor 

Holy and pure, 
Pleading together, 
" 0/i, in cold loeatJier, 

Remeinher the Poor ! " 



VOICES OF GEIEF 



VOICES OE GRIEF. 



THE MOTHERLESS. 

The day is done ! How silently the clouds 
Melt in the thin blue air, nor leave a trace 
Of their white garments on the azure skies 
To dim their glorious brightness. On the hills 
Gather the mists of evening, and the stars, 
Obedient to the summons, hasten out 
To keep their watchful vigils o'er the earth 
Till morn shall come again. 

'Tis a rare night ! 
The earth is full of music, and the air 
Seems like soft breathings from a calmer world, 
It floats so peacefully — and over all, 
On sloping hill-side, and in every dell. 



112 UTTERANCE. 

Lies the fair, liquid moonlight with a spell 

Of dream-like witchery and glorious strength I 

And yet I love it not — this peerless night — 

It has a tinge of sadness and it speaks 

With mournful meaning to my shrinking heart ; 

And when all else are joyous, and the young 

Are weaving hours of pleasure 'neath the light 

Of the soft moon, and reading tales of love 

And kindly sympathy in each dear face 

By her sweet beams, I turn aside and weep ! 

For there are none to love 7ne with such strength 

Of human tenderness — there's none to lay 

Her hand upon my drooping head, and breathe 

A mother's holy blessing — none to note 

My sadder moments — none when I would weep, 

To soothe with gentle words the weary heart 

That beats too often 'neath a gayer mood I 

I do remember well one summer night — 
Just such a night as this — I had been out 
To taste the balmy air, and fan my cheek, 
Made pale with weary watchings by the couch 
Where lay my blessed Mother, day by day 



VOICES J^' GRIEF. 113 

Wasting with painful sickness. I had watched 
The long, long day beside her, and when eve 
With its sweet calm drew on, they bade me go 
And breathe the pleasant air. 

And so I went. 
Lonely and sad, to wander out beneath 
The star-lit heavens. It was as fair a night, 
As gloriously beautiful, as this ; 
The very air seemed burdened with its weight 
Of light and loveliness, and every flower 
Sent up its tribute of delicious sweets 
From half-closed petals — but the glowing air, 
And the soft verdure, and the scented flowers, 
Were wearisome to my spirit, and awoke 
No chord of harmony, no passionate thrill. 
For there were sterner voices whispering there 
Of death and loved ones — so I turned once more 
To my sad home, to watch and weep again 
Beside my Mother's bed. 

— They met me there, 
Beneath those tall old trees — and with the sky 
Glowing with splendor, and the earth below 
8 



114 UTTERANCE. 

Smiling with ten-fold joy, as if to mock 
My weiglit of grief, — they told mc she was dead I 
My Mother ! — in whose life and love my life 
Was treasured up ! My Mother — whom I loved 
With such wild strength ! I did not, could not weep ; 
I murmured, " Let mc die," and with a strange. 
Deep, resolute purpose, that they recked not of, 
Close in my heart, I sought my Mother's room. 
How beautiful she looked ! There lay a smile 
On her closed lips so like the one she wore 
Ere sickness stole it from her, that I sprang 
Quick to her bedside, with a restless hope 
That they had but deceived me with their tale 
Of death and misery. I knelt and wept, 
And prest my lips to hers. How icy cold ! 
Oh God, forgive me for the mocking prayer 
That rose from my wild heart — a prayer to die ! 
To die with her, tho' I was young and strong ! 
To share with her her narrow home, and sleep. 
Ay, sleep for ever, so that dawn might bring 
No sad to-morrow to my waking eyes. 
To write me motherless ! 



VOICES OF GRIEP. 115 

Long, troubled years 
Have passed since then, but ever when the night 
Comes on with such rare beauty, and the moon 
Walks with such glorious brightness thro' the sky, 
I think of that fair, silent, mournful eve, 
When the sweet moonlight of my life went out 
And left my sky without one ray of love 
To cheer its gloomy darkness, — and my tears. 
When all are gay around me, tell how lone 
Is the sad portion of the motherless ! 



116 TJTTEHANCE 



''THE FORCED BRIDAL. 

A PICTURE. 

At, deck her in her bridal robes, — 
The maiden young and fair ; 

And twine a wreath of orange buds 
And roses for her hair ; 

Or bind amid its sable gloom 

The jasmine's white and starry bloom. 



And bid her ^vreath her trembling lip 
With Pleasure's gayest smile. 

Tell her its brightness will allure 
Her heart to joy the while, — 

Will make those brooding tear-drops flee 

That fringe her lids so heavily. 



YOICES or GKIEF. 117 

Tell her a bride should ever wear 

A glad, unshadowed glance ; 
Should be the gayest in the song, 

The fleetest in the dance ; 
Nor ever one low sigh be born, 
To dim the sweet, fair marriage morn ! 

— Alas, there's too much mockery! — 

Take off the shining wreath ! — 
Ye know not how much anguish lurks 

Those scented buds beneath ; — 
Ye know not what a weight of woe 
Is hid that bridal vest below. 

Ay, pity her, — so beautiful ! 

Sad — yet so young in years, — 
Laying her spirit on a shrine 

Dim with that spirit's tears ; — 
Giving Life's sweetest chalice up, 
To drink instead that bitter cup ! 



118 TTTTEKANCB. 

Oh, what a very mockery 
To deck her as ye must — 

Better to robe her in her shroud, 
And lay her in the dust ! 

For so at least her soul would be 

From its detested bondage free ! 



VOICES OF GRIEF. 119 



THE MANIAC'S DEATH-SONG. 

[In one of the rooms was the lifeless body of a yonng man, about 
twenty-three years of age. He had died that morning. The keeper 
told us that during the last few months he had been subject to 
occasional fits of melancholy, terminating often, however, in raving 
and delirium. He would mutter to himself — at first in a calm tone — 
"Oh, the Future! the Future!" but would at length become so 
wild that it was sometimes necessary to chain him. It was supposed 
that he had experienced one of these attacks that morning, and had 
died from very terror and exhaustion.] 

" There's a cloud on my spirit, a cloud of regret, 
For the light of my being all dimly has set ; 
Like sunbeams that die when the dark night comes on, 
The day from my spirit has faded and gone. 

" How sad and how lonely, how fearfully dim 

Lies the Future before me ! — Yet, ghastly and grim, 

One beckons me on with his skeleton hand, 

To tread the dark haunts of that shadowy land ! 



120 UTTERANCE. 

" Ah me, must I venture ? — a voice slumbers there 
^Vhose waking would wither my soul to despair ! 
And yet I must hear it, — its tones are for me, 
Despairing and hollow and wild tho' they be. 

" The Past has a shadow that follows me aye, — 

The Present is sad as the dying of day, — 

But oh, the dim Future, the years yet untried, 

All haunted with ghosts of the hopes that have died ! — 

" How wildly they call on my spirit to come 
And meet them again in their dark charnel home ! 
How mockingly echoes their laugh on the air, 
Like fiends making mirth o'er my cup of despair ! 

" I cannot escape them, for, spite of my will. 
They haunt me, they taunt me, they jeer at me still; 
At morn and at midnight, in ranks and alone. 
They hover before me and beckon me on. 

" Be still, ye dark phantoms that madden my brain ! — 
Be still ! — my wild spirit is quiv'ring with pain ; 



VOICES or GBIEF. 121 

Above and around me, within and without, 
Is chaos and darkness, wild discord and doubt. 

" Away, thou great Future ! — I fear thee ! Thine eye 
Is dark with the shadows that over thee lie ; 
Away, for my spirit grows weak as a child, 
Afraid of thy glances so fearful and wild. 

— "In vain — with a footstep that falls on my ear 
Like the tramp of an army, his coming I hear : 

Off, off ! — nay, he beckons — oh, save me, nor tear 
My worn soul to shreds with thy rod of despair ! 

" In vain ! I must meet him ! my soul is on fire — 
All shrivelled and scorched 'neath his terrible ire ! 
Oh horror ! I'm fainting — I'm dying ! — give o'er ! " 

— And the voice of that wild one was heard never more. 



122 UTTERANCE. 



MAY. 

These sweet spring days ! — With what a haunting spell 

They visit me again. I did not know 

That touch so exquisite had power to call 

The sick, sick Past back from its feverish trance 

And give it life again. This warm south breeze 

I deemed had other mission on its wings 

Than the dull task of waking grief that slept. 

It does not seem a tyrant as it sways 

So daintily those bursting blades of green, 

Or rocks with such a loving lullaby 

These cradled rose-buds that my care has placed 

Beside my window for a morning's meal 

Of air and sunshine — yet its every breath, 

Soft, warm, and low, and musical as it is. 

Comes freighted with deep sadness, wild regrets. 

And passionate sighs, and longings infinite, 

And memories mute and mournful. Oh ye tones 



VOICES OF GKIEF. 128 

Of the warm sunny sky, why have ye come 

"With your old errands to my heart again ? — 

For there were lighter strings within my soul 

Ye might have played on — most melodious chords 

Waiting to flow with the rich trill of birds, 

And the free tinkle of the unchained streams. 

Add the light shiver of the swaying leaves, 

And every sound that makes the spring-time gay 

With its sweet minstrelsy ; — and I did hope 

To join the universal hymn, and pour 

From my freed spirit, notes of equal praise. 

Oh wherefore then, half mingling, half apart. 

Wells up a note of sadness thro' the strain, 

A sobbing, desolate dirge, a tearful moan 

From the stirred, troubled fountain of my soul ? 

Why should the spring-time with its wondrous show 

Of bursting loveliness and budding bloom. 

Fall with a haunting shadow on my heart? 

Has it no leaf of healing, no dear balm. 

No heart's-ease for my spirit, 'midst its wealth 

Of buds and leaves and beautiful blossoming ? 

Must it be so for ever ? Will there come 



124 UTTERANCE. 

Never a spring-time when my heart shall bound 

With its old gladness, and my eyes look up 

To the warm sky in rapture, and my voice 

Mingle with bird notes and the songs of streams ? 

Have the warm breezes no medicinal touch 

To lay on my sick spirit, nor the woods 

A simple for my healing ? In all earth 

Can I not find an antidote, a balm ? 

Oh, wearisome climate, where the heart grows sick 

With its own longings, dies of its own dearth! 

Sure I was made for better, kindlier fate. 

And Immortality shall teach what Life, 

This narrow, grudging, meager thing called Life, 

Can never teach me. Heaven has better hopes, 

Nay, large fruition. There no shadow broods 

O'er the eternal spring-time : There my soul 

Shall find its desperate longings satisfied. 

Nor feel itself thrust backward from its goal 

Through the dull waste of ages. Therefore rouse, 

Oh thou sick heart of mine, and in thy hopes 

Of the dear heaven, forget the hopes of earth ! 

Cling to thy birthright ! — trust thine own great strength ! 



VOICES OF GKIEF. 125 

Nay, lean upon thy God's — and thou shalt find 
Health and repose again; ay, thou shalt find 
Each moment beautiful with Faith and Hope, 
Each season glorious, and all things good ! 



126 UTTEBAXCE. 



A BALLAD. 

They bid me sing tlie plaintive lay 

I sung in days of yore, 
And wonder that I never now 

Trill the sweet cadence o'er ; 
They know not that the simple thing 
Was one my mother used to sing. 

They look with cold and wondering gaze 

Into my tearful eyes, 
And ask, whene'er they name the strain, 

Why grief like mine should rise — 
I cannot school my lips to say, 
" My mother taught me that sweet lay." 

And when they urge me to the task, 

And plead full oft and long 
To hear again the plaintive notes 



YOICES OP GRIEF. 127 

Of that remembered song, 
Still does my voice refuse to swell 
The strain my mother loved so well. 

How oft when Avearied with my play 

I've nestled on her breast, 
To list that sweet familiar song 

Before I sank to rest ; 
And then I'd hold my breath to hear, 
As though an angel hovered near 

One evening — I remember well — 

In joyous summer tide, 
With aching feet and throbbing brow 

I sought my mother's side, 
And begged once more to list the lay 
I had not heard since yesterday. 

Her cheek was paler than its wont, 

And every breath was pain ; 
Yet still to please her wayward child, 

She sang it o'er again. 



128 UTTEKA Jf CE. 

— How could I know that Death was nigh, 
Stealing each accent silently ? 

With hasty thanks I left her side 

As died the last sad sound, 
Nor noted in my childishness 

The death-like stillness round, 
But with a glad and happy tread 
Tripped lightly to my little bed. 

And when the morning light broke forth 

I sought my mother's room, 
But sad, strange figures held me back 

And shook their heads in gloom ; 
They told me that my mother slept, 
And chid me when I vainly ^vept. 

And through the long and weary day 

They kept me from her bed ; 
But when the sorrowing eve came on, 

They told me she was dead — 



TOICES OF GEIEF. 129 

And led me, sobbing, to bebold 
My mother's face all pale and cold. 

I looked upon her bloodless lips, 

And gazed in anguish long, — 
I thought how lately they had breathed 

This same sweet, pensive song ; 
And wept to think I ne'er again 
Should hear her wake that pleasant strain.. 

Then ask me not to sing it now, 

Nor bid me lightly wake 
Those chords to which my weary heart 

Such sad response will make. — 
Go — take the lute — I cannot play 
One note of that remembered lay ! 
9 



130 TJTTEEANCE. 



LENA. 

Lucius. "What have you here, Horatio, a Translation? 
Horatio. "Ay, master, from the Heart — di mystic tongue, 

Quite out of use in these degenerate days, 

Deadest of all dead languages. 
Lucius. " Tut, Boy ! 

You shouldn't meddle with such obsolete lore." 
Old Times and New. 

Yester-i^ight I saw a vision, wondrous bright and 
over-fair, 

Pictured on the wall and haunting all the intermedi- 
ate air. 

Happy faces of my boyhood, looks that on my youth 

did shine, 
Seemed with eyes of loving beauty gazing once more 

into mine. 



VOICES OF GRIEF. 131 

Eyes whose light had cheered the morning of my life, 

but as the day 
Of my clouded being deepened, melted silently 

away. 

So the stars melt out from heaven when earth's weary 

day draws on, 
And the sky looks sad and desolate that its shining 

ones are gone. 

One there was — a sweet wee maiden — lovely as a 

lonely star — 
I can see her now, now worship as I worshipped once 

— afar. 

Never could I come a-nigh her — oh, she seemed too 

bright a thing 
To be touched save by an angel's wondrous, ever 

radiant wing. 

Yet last night she stood beside me, laid in mine her 
own white hand, 



132 TTTTERANCE. 

While my spirit tkrilled with rapture that I scarce 
could understand. 

Long I stood and gazed upon her with my whole 

heart in my look, 
Reading her love-written features like some sweet, 

love-written book ; — 

Gazing 'neath her downcast lashes on the azure of her 

eyes 
Beaming out like warm, glad sunshine struggling thro' 

beclouded skies. 

All the wall of separation seemed at once to be with- 
drawn, 

All Society's prim barriers with one stroke for ever 
gone. 

What tho* she had higher birthright — w^hat tho' her 

young blood coursed down 
Thro' a line of noble houses whose proud head had 

worn a crown? 



VOICES OF GEIEF. 133 

In tliat sweet niglit- vision vanislied all distinctions of 

the earth, 
And we stood like common beings, owning each a 

common birth. 

Oh, had Life been less relentless — had we met in 

very deed. 
Of this after-part of anguish there had been no cruel 

need. 

But with keen perception guessing how her heart and 

mine were wove 
By this sad yet silent process into one warm web of 

love, — 

(For, as yet our lips had spoken not one word of 

plighted truth, — 
She was but a wee-bit maiden, — I was scarcely 

deemed a youth ; 

Yet our souls by some strange forecast, some weird 
mystery of Fate, 



134 UTTERANCE. 

Clung together by a tenure that no force could sepa- 
rate ;) 

This, with keen perception guessing, friends, with 

roused and angry pride. 
Placed around her iron barriers that no tears could 

force aside. 

Scorn and rage and harsh dictation reigned where love 
before had smiled, 

Till o'er-sad and sick of weeping grew the fair, heart- 
broken child. 

Then there came a change upon her : in one brief, 

eventful hour. 
From the child emerged the woman, from the bud 

the sudden flower, — 

Perfect in its strength and beauty, tho' rude hands 

had forced apart 
With a harsh, unhallowed license, each warm leaflet 

of her heart. 



VOICES OF GKIEF. 135 

Stern resolve within her ripened — stern resolve to 

brave and share 
Suffering, Wrong, unjust Infliction — all that mortal 

heart could bear. 

Thus her soul grew old within her, till — as mildew 

blights the grace 
Of the premature, forced blossom — fairness faded from 

her face. 

On her lips the red rose wasted, from her eye the 

violet fled, 
Till, at length, in withered girlhood, cold she lay — 

ice-cold and dead ! 

Oh, what cruel hands did pilfer from her Life its 

morning bloom ! 
Oh, what monster means did lay her in her damp and 

early tomb ! — 

When she might have blossomed brightly — beautiful 
and fair as day, 



136 UTTERANCE. 

Had her warm and loving nature been allowed its 
rightful play ! 

Yet on me they brand the stigma of reproach, and 

wrong, and shame, 
Saying "Had'st thou never seen her, not on thee had 

been the blame." 

One bleak morning — one cold morning — dreary-bleak 

and bitter cold, 
Came a rider, pale and ghastly, striding o'er the 

dismal wold. 

I could fashion through the twilight of that dim and 

misty morn, 
Features of her sire, rage-knotted, working -with 

convulsive scorn. 

Erst he reached our humble cottage — (I was but a 

peasant's son) — 
He had cursed me for the mischief that my upstart 

love had done ; 



VOICES OF GRIEF. 137 

Cast on me a look of vengeance, flung to me a lock 

of gold, 
Severed, as he said, from temples but for me had ne'er 

been cold. 

Severed in her latest moments with her own thin, 

trembling hand, 
" This for /a'm," she breathed, — " ye dare not spurn 

the dying's last command." 

Dumb, in that sad, joyful moment, fell those curses on 

my head, 
(Joyful, that she loved me, dying — sad, that loving, 

she was dead !) 

Oh lost Lena, lovely Lena, fair, and pure, and gentle- 
eyed, 

I would give my heart's last life-blood an for me thou 
had'st not died ! 

Yet, sweet thoughts, like shrouded moonlight, pace my 
spirit's cloudy gloom, 



138 XJTTEEANCE 



While I sit and ponder sadly on thy chilled and 
blighted bloom. 



Visions of thy strange devotion thrill me like a very 

hoy, 
Till my heart beats nigh to bursting with a wild, 

tumultuous joy. 

Then thy face gleams up before me, with its brow so 

ashy-white. 
And, before I know, I'm weeping o'er this tress of 

golden light. 

So my heart keeps swaying ever 'twixt th' extremes 

of joy and woe. 
Fearing to alight on either, yet untaught where else 

to go. 

Oh, my lost, lost, stricken Lena, fair, and sweet, and 

azure-eyed, 
Would to God thou had'st not left me, or would God 

I too had died ! 



VOICES or GEIEF. 139 



THE OCEAN BELL.* 

Tolling, tolling — o'er the ocean 
Comes a sad and mournful knell, 

Where the waves with restless motion 
Rock that solemn bell. 

Tolling ever, ceasing never 

From the same eternal round, 
Both in bright and stormy weather 

Comes that low, clear sound. 

Tho' the skies above be cloudless, 
Tho' the waves be bright below, 

* The bell of the steamer Atlantic, lost in the December gale, 
of 1846. " That part of the wi-eck to which it was attached, 
happened to lodge in such a position, that the bell was supported 
out of the water, and at the motion of every wave struck twice, 
and so, night and day, tolled on its doleful note." 



140 ITTTEEANCE. 

Still, with note unmuffled, shroudless, 
Comes that sound of woe, — 

Tolling o'er the loved and parted, — 
Tolling o'er the brave and good, — 

Tolling o'er the broken-hearted. 
Sadly as it should. 

Oh, how many forms were buried 
Underneath this billowy strife ! 

Strong, stern men, with earth unwearied, 
Struggling still for life. 

Wrestling with the gaping billows 
Till the hope of life was o'er — 

Sinking on their watery pillows — 
Glad to toil no more. 

Youth, and Age, and Manhood's vigor, 
Shrouded in one common pall, 

While the winds with ceaseless rigor 
Howl alike o'er all. 



TOICES OI' GBIEF. 141 

Well — they sleep beneath the billow, 
Sire and child, and man of God,"^'' 

Peacefully as tho' a willow 
Waved above their sod. 

Yet 'twas hard to see so many 

Strong, brave men go down to death ! 

Passing pitiful that any 

Thus should yield their breath ! 

Meet it is that that sad tolling. 

Moan should keep above their rest — 

Mournful dirges ever rolling 
O'er each storm-swept breast. 

Sleep ye on — ye loved and parted — 

Sleep ye on — ye cannot know 
How above your rest hath started 

This low wail of woe. 



* Rev. Dr. i^rmstrong. 



142 UTTEEANCE. 

— Yet a sound at length shall call them 
From the slumbers that they keep ; 

Ay, a heavier note appal them, 
In their dreamless sleep ! 

"Well for them, when that loud warning, 
Sounding over sea and earth. 

Calls the resurrection morning 
Into sudden birth ; — 

Well for them, if each glad spirit 

Springs in glorious liberty. 
Life for ever to inherit 

Where there's " no more sea." 



YOICES OF GRIEF. 143 



THE CHANGED MEETING. 

We met — how different was the greeting 

From those exchanged long years ago, 
When every moment seemed too fleeting, 

And aye too near the hour to go ! 
How icy was the hand you offered. 

And mine as coldly met your own — 
How calm the welcome that you proffered — 

I answered in the same calm tone. 

And yet my very heart was burning 

With thoughts I could not breathe to thee ; 
And my whole soul was fondly yearning 

To be what once we used to be. 
I saw thee turn away to cover 

Thy brimming eyes — it made me glad 
To know sad thoughts thou could'st not smother, 

— Strange I should smile to see thee sad ! 



144 ITTTEKANCE. 

Thee ! — whom I loved with such devotion ; 

Whose every grief I used to share ; — 
Weeping with love's own deep emotion 

If but thy brow was touched with care ; 
Thee ! whose fond smile like life I cherished ; 

Why should I joy to see thy woe ? 
— And yet my passion had not perished, 

My love to thee grown cold, — oh no ! 

I thought of all the hours long vanished 

When we were happy, loving, gay ; 
I started back in tears — astonished 

To find it all so changed to-day ! 
And when I saw thou too wast calling 

The loving Past all back to thee, 
While from thine eyes fast tears were falling. 

How could I else than happy be ? 

And yet, farewell, 'twere vain to linger 
On thoughts that are but useless now, — 

For guilt and shame with busy finger 
Have stampt their language on thy brow. 



VOICES OF GKIEF. 145 

Oil, had'st thou been what I had made thee, 
Had'st thou but bowed to Love's own tone, 

I had not now in anguish prayed thee 
To leave me in my tears, alone ! 
10 



146 ITTTEBANCE. 



LIFE. 

** Perfect through suffering." 

Paul. 

Must I suffer ere my spirit 

Shall attain its highest goal ? 
Opens there no smoother pathway 

To the upward-struggling soul r 
No — like seed that through thick darkness 

Gropes its way above the sod, 
So this soul of mine must ever 

Struggle through the dark to God ! 

Light untempered pales the blossom, 
Suns unclouded blight the grain — 

So the Love that's winged with Wisdom 
Calls His clouds and gives them rain. 



YOICES OF GRIEF. 147 

I, a plant in God's great garden, 

Grain within His guarded field, 
Need I not, as well as sunshine, 

Eain to make me thrive and yield? 

In the day the great earth wearies. 

Sickens 'neath the burning sun; 
In the night she rallies nobly, 

Till her strength is all re-won. 
Dews fresh-dropt from Nature's chalice, 

Cool and quicken all her powers. 
Fit her for another morroAv's 

Struggle through the sultry hours. 

In the light my soul grows sickly. 

Sluggish, faint — until, at length, 
In the dark how strong it struggles, 

Battling for its bartered strength ! 
Tears, like dews, refresh and hallow 

All its powers for noble strife ; 
Fit and nerve it for another 

Upward effort into Life. 



148 XJTTEEANCE. 

Life is Toil — he lives, he only, 

Who, amid his daily cares, 
Sees a mighty end upspringing, 

Like choice wheat among the tares. 
He who patience gleans from trial, 

Strength from struggle, hope from pain, 
He twice lives — on earth — in heaven — 

He who lives once, lives again ! 



VOICES OF GRIEF. 149 



A SEA- SIDE THOUGHT. 

Oh, thou blue Ocean ! on tliy breast 

Gay barks float idly by, — 
By the soft summer winds caressed, 

And smiled on by a cloudless sky. 

But far away — beyond this tide 

Slow-beating on the shore. 
Where the great ships untrammeled ride 

And the long billows chafe and roar, — 

Out on the great, wild, heaving deep. 

There riots many a storm. 
And the fierce waters swell and sweep 

O'er many a heart once beating warm. 

— Oh, thou blue Ocean ! who might guess, 
Gazing as I do now 



150 UTTERANCE. 

On yon bright waves whose calm caress 

Goes murmuring round each graceful prow, — 

That such dark secrets* slept beneath 
These ripples flecked with gold ? — 

That such wild tales of wreck and death 
Thy distant surges might unfold ? 

— So once on Life's calm brink I lay, 

A happy, little child, 
Caressed by ripples in their play. 

While Hope's blue sky looked down and smiled. 

Alas, how little then I thought 

Of stormy seas afar, 
Where the great skies are tempest-fraught. 

And the great billows rage and war ! 

Oh, wrecks of Hops and Trust and Love, 

That sleep Life's waves below. 
Where the wild seas have closed above 

And left no trace of wreck and woe, — 



VOICES OF GRiEF. 151 

Come from the caverns where ye lie, 

For Faith itself grows wild — 
Bring back to me the sunny sky 

That spanned me w]jen I was a child ! 

Bring back the faith, the hope, the glee 
That blessed those days of yore, — 

Bring back the heart of youth to me, — 
Make me a little child once more ! 

In vain ! — oh thou blue, restless Sea, 

Thy dead shall rise at last — 
But what loud trump shall wake for me 

The loves and hopes of that dear Past ? 



152 ITTIEEANCE, 



STAIJZAS. 

"Changed! changed!" 

Nay, look not on me thus 
With those sad eyes of thine ; 

Too tenderly they gaze on me, 
Too mournfully they shine ! 

Now they are filled with tears 
That shadow all their rays ; 

I pray thee, look not on me thus, 
With that sad, mournful gaze ! 

Thou hast been all too good. 
Too kind, too fond, — while I — 

My blushes must reveal the tale, 
My lips in vain may try. 



VOICES OF GRIEF. 153 

Yet I did love thee well, 

And thought there could not be 

A fairer or a dearer one 
Than I had found in thee. 

— I know not why it is, — 

This change upon me now ; — 
Not that thy cheek has grown less fair, 

Less beautiful thy brow. — 

No, — for thy face still wears 

The look of other days ; 
There's still the same calm beauty there 

I used so oft to praise. 

And yet — but 'twere in vain 

To pain thine ear with more ; 
I only know I love thee not 

As I did love — of yore. 



154 ITTTERANCE. 



SONNET: 

AVRITTEN ON THE TLY-LEAF OF A FAVORITE AUTHOK. 

Oh Life ! — to other hearts so rich, so glad ! 

So poor to me, so dark, so deeply sad ! — 

My Past — all blotted with a thousand tears. 

My Future — haunted with a thousand fears. 

My Present — crowded, crushed with memories of years 

Consumed and wasted in a fruitless strife 

To bear and suffer on and call the struggle, Life ! 

Oh, I am weary, sick ! My heart is worn 

In the long combat ; — will it ever cease, 

And leave me, bruised indeed, but no more torn 

By the strong vulture that consumes its peace ? 

Oh, fruitless questioning ! Why dream of rest ? 

Let the dark years roll on — they bear me on their 

breast — 
And I shall sleep at length — my last sleep and my best! 



VOICES OF GUIEF. 155 



SONNET. 

Poor heart of mine ! metliouglit thou knewest well 

Thy yictory, earned with such regretful pain, — 

Yet I did wake but one sad, slumbering spell, 

And all thy weakness crowded back again. 

Ah, woe is me, for that my power is vain 

To battle with the Past! — My Father, Thou, 

Alone of all, dost know the weary strife 

That stirs beneath this calm, unaltered brow, 

The lonely contest of my inner life 

'Gainst the rude foes with which itself is rife. 

Oh, aid me in the combat ! Pound me cast 

The dews of sweet contrition, that my tears 

May blind me to the beckonings of the Past, 

And be a gulf 'twixt me and those mistaken years ! 



156 IJTTEKANCE 



A MEMORY. 

Oh why, when fondly on my lips, 

Love prest dear kisses warm and fast, 
Wandered my won heart back to thee, 

And that half-haunting, mournful Past : 
With each wild pressure wherefore lay 

Some linked remembrance of thine own, 
To thrill me with the old delight 

That to my soul so strange had grown r 

I answered back with burning tears 

Each wild'ring kiss on lip and brow ; 
I knew no other meet response. 

Dreaming, the while, alas, 'twas thou ! 
But, that one blind, sad vision o'er. 

My heart grew calm and still at last — 
And a sweet anthem stirred my soul, 

A paean o'er the conquered Past ! 



SACRED VOICES 



SACRED VOICES. 



A THOUGHT OF ETERNITY. 

Eternity ! — what toil of mine can frame 

A thought sublime enough to grasp thy name I 

The Great Unknown ! the shoreless, silent sea ! — 

The vast, dim, distant, dread Eternity ! 

Time knows no lino of measurement to trace 

This ever-infinite, this boundless space ! 

Earth's forests are too bare with all their leaves 

To stand its type, and Ocean vainly heaves. 

And tasks its iron strength to crowd the shore 

With sands whose sum could tell its moments o'er ! 

For yearless, monthless, it wearies on. 

Nor lessens aught when age on age is gone ! 

— Help me, sweet Faith ! — my spirit is afraid 



160 UTTERANCE. 

Of its own thought, and, trembling and dismay' d, 

Chiding its toil to grasp eternal things, 

Folds its faint pinion on thy stronger wings. 

As Peter on the dark Tiberian wave 

Sinking, cried out for help, " Oh Jesus, save ! " 

So, venturing blindly on this shoreless sea. 

This single glimpse of dread Eternity, 

My spirit, sinking, cries, sweet Faith, for thee. 

Oh, strengthen and assure me, lest I fail 

To credit w^hat but seems a wondrous tale, — 

A wild creation born of troubled dreams, — 

A thing which is not but which only seems. 

— Yet, there it stands — Eternity — God's home ! — 
And mine as well when Life's short toil is done. 

— Oh, let me gather up my scattered powers, 
And task them nobly thro' the coming hours ; 
So, when my Life, nay. Time itself is o'er. 
Looking serenely on its fading shore, 

My soul may launch where now it dares no more 
Than feebly glance — even upon that sea 
Unknown and vast — the limitless To-Be — 
God's dwelling-place and mine, — Eternity .' 



SACKED VOICES. 161 



SABBATH-EVENING HYMN. 

My Father, in the fading light 

Of this blest day, so calm and still, 

Ere yet the shadows of the night 
Lie down on every vale and hill, 

While the sweet Sabbath lingers on. 

My spirit fain would seek Thy throne. 

A hymn of love my soul should sing, 
To Thee, great length'ner of my days ; 

But oh, forgive me, that I bring 

Complaints instead of grateful praise, — 

Forgetting in this hour of tears, 

The love and goodness of long years. 

I look around on this glad earth. 

And see how bright it is, and fair — 
11 



162 UTTEKANCE. 

How beautiful and full of mirth — 

How void of weariness and care — 
And yet I turn from all, to feel 
A deeper sadness o'er me steal. 

It jars like discord on my heart, 
The song of joy that Nature trills ! 

My spirit cannot take a part 
In the sweet melody of rills ; 

The music of the deep blue sea, 

As well a mournful dirge may be. 

And tho' the fair and peaceful skies 
Smile on me with their glance of love, 

And one by one soft stars arise. 
Each trembling in the blue above, 

It seems a mock'ry of my woe. 

That they should shine and sparkle so. 

Oh Thou, who once on Marah's tide 
Of bitter waves, did'st healing pour, 



SACRED VOICES. 163 

I look to Thee ! — no power beside 
My soul's lost sweetness can resto 
Oh purify with grace divine 
This turbid, troubled soul of mine ! 

Then shall it yield to Thee once more, 
Its willing tribute, pure and sweet, — 

And in full tides of gladness pom- 
Its gathered homage at Thy feet, — 

Joyful at length to rest in Thee — 

A tired wave that has found the sea ! 



164 UTTERANCE. 



THE HAPPY LAND. 

Oh, there are moments wlieii my heart is longing 
To break the fetters of this earthly clay, 

And soaring on swift wings, hchold the dawning, 
The glorious op'ning of eternal day ! 

To leave this earthly and obscure abode. 
And find myself at home, with angels and with God ! 

Oh there arc pleasures in that happy dwelling 

Where the redeemed ones strike their harps of gold, 
While all the air with harmony is swelling — 

Pleasures too bright, too rapturous to be told, 
Joys that this earth is all too poor to buy, 
rieasures undreamt of here, but knovv^n and shared on 
high. 

There flow the ripples of that heavenly river 
Whose joy-inspiring waters never cease, 



SACRED VOICES. 165 

And there the tree of life is blooming ever, 

Bearing the fruits of holiness and peace. 
And every dweller in that happy land 
May touch and take the fruit with an unsparing 
hand. 

Oh happy, happy dwelling! — Not a sorrow 
Burdens the air with sighings of distress, 

No longings for a better, happier morrow, 
Haunt that dear land of perfect blessedness ! 

But peace and gladness plume their pinions bright, 
And fill the whole blest air*with rapture and delight. 

There walk the saints in robes of dazzling whiteness, 

Those who with us these earthly homes have trod ; 

Now they are clothed with majesty and brightness. 

And talk with angels and commune with God. 
Oh, how supremely blest, to have laid down 
Clay for an angel's robe and ashes for a crown ! 

Strange that these hearts of ours should ever falter. 
Weeping for those committed to the dust, 



166 UTTERANCE. 

Whose souls already bow before the altar 

With the great concourse of the good and just ! 
Strange that our love would call them back again 
To life's great toilsome march, — once more care laden 
men! 

Had we one glimpse of that unwritten glory 

Shared by the loved one in his home above, 
Could he but tell the yet unspoken story 

Of the deep gladness of that clime of love. 
We should bow down in meekness, and adore 
The Hand that took, nor ask the treasure back once 
more. 

Oh happy, happy land ! — my heart is weary 

With its sad longings for thy peaceful rest ; 
I'm pining for my home, and long and dreary 
Seemeth the way that leads me to the blest. 
Yet will I travel on, and hope at length 
To reach that land of love, of joy and perfect strength. 



ACRED YOICES. 167 



THE PILGRIM. 

"And the bended bow and the voice passed on." 

Hemans. 

Weaby, wayworn, sad, and faint, 
Pouring out my mournful plaint, 
Crying with a burdened soul, 
*' Jesus, save and make me whole ! " — 
Soon He heard my voice, and cried, 
"Look on me, — the crucified ! '' 

And my spirit looked to the gracious throne, 
And my load of guilt and the voice passed on. 

Once again my soul was dark ; 
Hope was dying, spark by spark ; 
Clouds of sorrow, fear, and sin, 
Shrouded me their folds within. — ■ 



168 UTTERANCE. 

But a voice broke througli the night, — 
" Trust in me, — thy living light ! " 

And my spirit looked where the bright ray shone, 
And the night of gloom and the voice passed on. 

Poverty with ruthless sway 
Gained uj^on me day by day ; 
Tremblingly I looked around ; 
— Could no help for me be found? 
Lo, a voice, — "Fear not," it said, 
" Feed on me, — thy living bread/' 

And my spirit fed on the Heavenly One, 

And the faithless doubt and the voice passed on. 

Sickness came with rapid tread, — 
Laid his hand ujwn my head ; — 
Friends forsook and foes drew near, — 
All my spirit shook with fear ; 
Still the heavenly voice was nigh, — 
" Lean on me ; — I cannot die." 



SACRED yOICES. 169 

And my heart grew still, for my foes were gone, — 
And the hour of pain and the voice passed on. 



170 U T T E K A N C E . 



TRUTH. 



PART 



" What is Truth ? " 

Pilate. 

Ai^-D what is Truth? Oh doubting Friend, 
Not with your ashes died your doubt ; 

Still seeks a baffled world to rend 
The veil that shuts the answer out. 

Shrouded it stands, as when of old 
The sacred Teacher turned away, 

With the great secret all untold, 

Save what His own true life could say. 

Still, lohat is Truth ? Not creed nor sect, 
Claiming this pearl of greatest worth. 

But owns its brightness marred and flecked 
With the poor canker- spots of earth. 



SACKED YOICES. 171 

I see so many devious ways — 

All promise well, yet still I grope ; 

Bewildered in the trackless maze, 
Yet lighted by a boundless hope — 

A boundless hope — a holy trust 

That light to all shall yet be given ; 

That some kind, waiting influence must 
Teach all at length one way to heaven — 

One faith — one Lord — one holy seal 

Of baptism — one heavenly birth ; 
Come, thou great Present-One, reveal 

Thy secret to a waiting earth ! 

Like Pilate, we too, fain would cry 

Lord, " what is Truth ? " — oh, give us light. 

Nor let Thy living voice still lie 
Tombed in its sepulchre of night. 

Bid Thy dear angels take away 

The stone that Error's hands have rolled 



i/2 UTTEBANCE. 

To bar the advent of that day 

By Thine own prophets long foretold — 

When Truth shall reign — when all the race 
Shall bow one common knee to Thee, 

And each shall see in every face 
One title to humanity ; 

"When Pagan, Christian, Jew, and Greek, 
Shall strive before one common shrine. 

No Shibboleth of a creed to speak. 
But a name greater — even Thine ! 



PART II. 



The secret of the Lord is -with them that fear Him." 

Scriptures. 

Thy secret, Lord ? — alas, my heart 
Half wearies in its search for Truth, 

And weeps, from all the world apart, 
Over its ignorance and youth. 



SACKED VOICES. 173 

Life seems a great bewildering show, 
Crowded with good and evil too — 

And who shall teach me where to go ? 
What path to shun, and what pursue ? 

For oh, 'tis hard to fix the bound 

Where right declines and wrong begins, 

Since Virtue's very home is found 
Next neighbor often unto Sin's. 

I love — before I know, my kind, 

Warm love becomes idolatry ; 
I hate some sin — anon I find 

The sinner too despised by me ; 

With eager zeal I crush some worm 

Of slimy Error that has tracked 
Its baleful way across some germ 

Of good — both perish in the act. 

Oh, who shall teach me where to stand, 
And how with steady skill to pile 



174 UTTERANCE. 

Life's balances on eitlier hand, 

Nor jar their perfect poise the while ? 

Where is that blest Utopian line, 
That warm equator of the soul, 

Where Truth's bright tropics ever shine. 
Nor fear th' extremes of either pole ? — 

Where Truth's ripe fruitage falters not 
'Neath Folly's blast nor Error's blight ? 

What human soul has neared that spot, 
That centre-line of perfect right ? 

None ! Only He who once below 
Serenely Avalked, of men a part. 

Yet claiming to His essence too 

Copartnership with God's great heart — 

He only has the pathway found, 
The highway of a perfect life ; 

Alas, on what inferior ground 

We walk with Truth itself at strife ! 



SACKED VOICES. 175 

Yet down the ages' solemn aisle, 
Through the dim vestibule of time, 

Come back, to him who lists the while, 
The echoes of those steps sublime. 

And he who follows where they lead, 
Thy secret, Lord, at length shall see ; 

For he is nearest Truth whose deed. 
Or great or small, is likest Thee ! 



176 I7TTEKANCE 



''A STRANGE PULPIT." 

[A fact -wliicli occurred somewhat recently in India, on the occasion 
of the gi-eat festival of Juggernaut.] 

OxYrARD, like some miglity demon, rolls the huge 

colossal car, 
While the jaded crowd, slow-yielding, shrink before 

its iron jar. 

Shrined in its unholy bosom, stands the Idol grim 

and bold — 
Juggernaut — the worshipped monster — tricked with 

silk and burnished gold. 

Shouts, and cries, and Avild responses, vex the blessed 

tropic air, 
Where the golden sunset pausing, calls instead to 
praise and prayer. 



SACEED VOICES. 177 

Thou dear God, in all this mockery, this unhallowed 

strife and din, 
Hast Thou not one faithful witness, strong to unmask 

the frightful sin ? 

— Lo, from 'mongst the maddened concourse, springs 
one firm and stalwart form, 

With his broad brow raised and bright'ning, rainbow- 
like, above the storm. 

Courage ! he has gained the terrace, and with lifted 

eyes he stands 
In the Idol Car, confronting its grim God with folded 

hands. 

From his lips no fiery outburst like a fierce sirocco 

rolls. 
But his calm, persuasive accents sway that tide of 

living souls. 

' Come to Jesus, oh ye weary, toiling on, yet still 
unblest, — 
12 



178 •UTTEIIANCE. 

Jesus is tlie sinner's refuge — Jesus is the sinner's 
rest." 

How the rapt crowd gather round him, hanging on 

his lips of flame, 
As they kindle with the utterance of that well-beloved 

name ! 

Oh, ausijicious, happy omen ! Christ's dear banner is 

unfurled 
From the very gates of Satan to the wide gaze of a 

world ! 

Glorious deed ! no nation's plaudit crowns it with 

immortal bays. 
But the God of nations heeds it, and its meed shall 

be His praise ; — 

And its savor, wide difliising, yet shall reach the 

farthest shore. 
Till the whole earth swells the chorus, '' God is Lord 

for ever more ! " 



SACKED YOICES. 179 



JOHN 21: 15-17. 

" Feed my sheep — they wander wide 
O'er the earth my hands have made 
Famishing on every side, 
AVill ye still refuse to aid? 



" Feed my sheep — from south to north, 
Rouse, ye saints, my name who bear ! 
With the living bread go forth — 
Give to each and all a share. 



" Feed my lambs — tho' weak and small, 
Bid them to the gospel feast ; 
Milk there is and wine for all — 
For the smallest, weakest, least." 



180 IJTTEEANCE. 

Saviour, we would fain obey, 
Feed us with the living bread ; 

Then go with us on our way. 
Till thy whole wide flock is fed. 



SACKED VOICES. 181 



MUSINGS. 

The crickets are singing the blossoms to sleep, 
The night winds are drinking the dew-tears they weep, 
The birds have all gone to their homes on the tree, 
And no one is here in the stillness but me. 

The heavens are so placid, the earth is so fair, 
So sweet is each breath of this soft summer air, 
That surely my soul should grow holy with thought, 
"When everything round with such beauty is fraught. 

So beautiful outward ! — but oh, from within. 
From the depths of my spirit all sullied with sin. 
No answering echo is wakened to life, 
But discord instead, and confusion and strife. 

I gaze on the sky in its glorious light, 

— To me it is dim with the blackness of night, 



182 XT ITERANCE. 

I think of the realms of the blessed afar, 
Beyond the bright region of planet and star ; 

I know there's a home for the wanderer there, 
A rest for the weary, untroubled by care; 
But ah, to my spirit no solace is given, 
Tho' whispering nature is telling of Heaven. 

For how can I hope for the joys of the blest — 

My soul all unholy and full of unrest ? 

Oh, how can I look on the beautiful sky, 

And read there a claim to those mansions on high ? 

And yet I am weary of living for earth — 

Its pleasures are tasteless and hollow its mirth — 

My spirit is seeking some holier shore. 

Where, folding its wings, it may wander no more. 

And are not the weary invited to come. 
And find in the bosom of Jesus a home ? 
And may I not venture, tho' burdened with sin. 
And plead His kind promise and so enter in ? 



SACEED YOICES. 183 

At least I may venture ; — 'tis open to all — 
I'll hasten and go at so gracious a call ! 
And Jesus will meet me and call me his own, 
And give me a place near his glorious throne. 



184 TJTTEEANCE 



PRAYER. 

When morning is rising o'er mountain and lawn, 
And earth is awaking to welcome the dawn, 
When far down the valley the mists fly away. 
Arouse thee from slumber, arouse thee, and pray. 

And when the warm noon in its stillness draws nigh, 
And nature seems ready to languish and die, 
Then halt on thy march in the heat of the day, 
And lift thy tired thoughts to thy Father and pray. 

When evening descends like a spirit of peace, 
And labor and tumult grow fainter and cease, 
Dismiss all the turmoil and cares of the way. 
To pause in the beautiful stillness and pray. 

Remember His goodness whose hand has supplied 
Each want of thy spirit, nor ever denied 



SACKED YOICES. 185 

The smiles of His bounty to gladden thy way — 
Remember His goodness and gratefully pray. 

Oh, pray to Him always — in sorrow and joy — 
A\^ien peace is around thee or troubles annoy — 
The light of His presence thy grief shall allay, 
Or hallow thy gladness — then constantly pray. 



186 UTTERANCE. 



NIGHT HYMN. 

The night is round me and the dew, 
The moon, the stars, the sky of blue, 
Sweet breezes float above me now. 
And fan my cheek and kiss my brow ; 
There's beauty, beauty all around, 
In earth and sky, in sight and sound. 

My Father, help me to look up. 
Before I raise this o'er-filled cup 
Of joy and beauty to my lip, 
Oh help me, e'er I blindly sip, 
To raise my feeble thought aright 
To Thee, great Author of the night! 

How great art Thou ! the skies to Thee 
Are but a speck, — the earth and sea, 



SACRED VOICES. 187 

Lie in the hollow of Thy hand, 
Like slaves awaiting Thy command ; 
And stars, to ns so vast and high, 
Are numbered to Thy searching eye. 

How great art Thou ! — yet still to Thee, 
I, even I, may bow the knee. 
Assured that He who built the skies, 
And bade the moon and stars arise. 
And gave the cool and balmy air, 
Will listen to my humble prayer. 

And therefore do I bend the knee. 
Great Author of the night, to Thee. 
— Oh, when I sink to dreamy sleep, 
My life and spirit kindly keep. 
And wake me with the morning light, 
To praise Thee for a quiet night. 



VOICES BY THE WAY. 



VOICES EY THE WAY. 



"WISHING BRIDGE." 

Tkead ye it lightly — this fair, green dell 
Is dim with the breath of a solemn spell ; 
Shadows are here in this calm retreat, 
Haunting the air with their shrouded feet ! 

Forms that are laid with the sleeping dead 
Follow our steps with their silent tread ; 
Tones that grew still in the hush of death 
Hover around us with voiceless breath. 

Stay ye and listen ; — each whispering breeze 
Filleth the bosom with thousrhts like these ; 



192 ITTTEKANCE. 

How can ye roam in this quiet spot, 
And the spell of its silence be all forgot? 

Footsteps as bounding as yours have pressed 
This worn old bridge where your own now rest; 
Footsteps whose coming was joy and mirth ! 

— Woe that they ever should pass from earth ! 

How many fond wishes have here been told, 
Dear to the heart as a miser's gold ! 
How many bright hopes have been murmured free 
Under the shade of this Avhispering tree ! 

Love has been here with its magic power, 
Weaving bright tales in the twilight hour ; 
Breathing its wishes with earnest brow ; 

— Where are the loved and the loving now ? 

Gladness has trodden this green retreat, 
Beauty and youth with their dancing feet; 
Manhood and age — and the lisping child 
Cheering the stillness with gambols wild. 



TOICES BY THE WAY. 193 

Sorrow has "been in these peaceful dells, 
Sighing and weeping, and sad farewells; 
Sorrowful partings — yet meetings too, 
Happy and gay as the earth e'er knew. 

How many have wandered these fair dells o'er, 
And this grass-grown bridge, that will come no more ! 
Each with a wish for the coming years, 
Whispered in gladness or breathed in tears ! 

And are they not sacred — these solemn dells, 
Bound as they are by a thousand spells ? 
Is not the air with a stillness fraught, — 
Owning the sway of a mighty thought? 

Death is around us, though fair the spot, 
Death — in the forms of the unforgot ! 
Forms that were fleeting as summer hours ; — 
Say, do ye marvel that tears are ours ? 

Turn ye away from these quiet vales ; 
Turn ye away from their mournful tales. 
Ye have no tears for the lost to shed, 
— Leave us alone with the loved and dead ! 
13 



194 UTTERANCE. 



JULY TWENTY-SEVENTH. 

My Birthday ! — I have wiser grown 
Since the last upon me shone ; 
Strokes have fallen on my heart, 
Rending all the mists apart, — 
Till a clearer life I see 
Opening thro' the dark for me ! 

Let me pau^ and look around : 
Where I stand is holy ground ; 
Here the Future and the Past 
Each their shadow o'er me cast, 
While betwixt the two I stand, 
Eyeing them on either hand ; 
And I feel like one affrighted. 
In a stranger-land benighted. 
Yet impelled to journey on, 



VOICES BY THE WAY. 195 

Looking ever and anon 

Back upon the path I've gone. 

Oh, thou stern Past, thou hast been 
Witness to the wrong and sin, 
Witness to the tears and strife 
Waiting on this restless life ! 
Thou hast seen the sharp regret, 
The ceaseless struggle to forget, — 
(Dost thou see it even yet ?) 
Oh, be merciful, I pray. 
For my soul is weak to-day. 
And it could not, could not brook 
All the rigor of thy look. 

Bless thee, gentle Past ! — thine eyes 
Seem to melt in kind replies. 
While my soul thus v/aiting stands 
Asking mercy at thy hands. 
Thou dost know, as none else could, 
All my breathings after good 
When the evil by me stood — 



196 TJTTEEANCE. 

And how my soul has struggled still 

'Gainst its own impulsive will — 

Standing up with firm intent, — 

Tho' alas, too often bent 

From the high endeavor meant, 

It has yielded to the foe, 

Loth to give back blow for blow. 

Oh, thou great Past, give me strength ! 

Let me learn from thee at length 

How to meet the coming time 

With a fortitude sublime, — 

Strong to battle for the right 

Like a warrior armed for fight, — 

Resolute to meet each dawn 

With a hero's armor on ! 

So each day, my soul shall grow 

Stronger than its mightiest foe, — 

Conquering, on to conquer go I 

So the stern years, in their flight 
Bringing knowledge, giving light, 



VOICES BY THE WAY. 197 

Steps shall be by which to climb 
Elevations most sublime, — 
Jacob's ladders, raised on high, 
Reaching, faith-like, to the sky,— 
Guides upon the weary road. 
Pointing to that blest abode 
Where the tired soul rests with God. 



198 TJTTEEANC 



KERNWOOD: 

AN UNFINISHED SUMMER EESIDENCE NEAR SALEM, MASS. 

'Tis a most noble spot, and meet to bear 
Its lordly title ! How the weary heart, 
After scant breathings in the heated air 

Of the close city and the crowded mart, 
Treasures a spot like this, where it may dwell 
And breathe its beauty in, like some sweet, hallowed 
spell ! 

How beautiful it is ! — the very skies 

Bend o'er it with a holier look of love — 

And in the dewy dark, its starry eyes 

Seem gazing down like angels from above, 

As though to guard it through the livelong night, 
Were a sweet privilege and a most rare delight ! 



VOICES BY THE AVAY. 199 

How beautiful it is — for vale and hill, 

Meadow and wood, have brought their brightest 
charms, 
And laid them, like rich tributes of good will, 
In noble Kernwood's ample, generous arms; 
Till, like a haunt of very witchery. 
It smiles in promise now of what it soon will be. 

— 'Twas early autumn, and a calm, bright day ; 

Half wistfully we turned and gazed around — 
How smilingly and fair before us lay 

Kernwood, with all its weight of beauty crowned ! 
Its dome, the sky — its light, heaven's sunny beams- 
Its boundary, the blue magnificence of streams ! 

Before us rose the mansion proud and fair ; 

Turret and balcony all bathed in gold 
Caught from the sunset clouds that richly there 

Hung over it in many a gorgeous fold ; — 
Gilding the quaint, rich carvings with warm light, 
And throwing o'er the whole a flush unearthly bright ! 



200 UTTERANCE. 

Long had we lingered, but the city bells 
Tolled a late hour, almost the close of day : 

And breathing silently our sad farewells, 

From the sweet place we slowly turned away — 

Loth that so fair a spot should fade from view, 
And turning often back to say a last adieu. 

And then we talked of those whose home would be 
Within these rich tho' yet unfinished walls — 

We tho't how oft the careless tones of glee 

Would ring like song thro' the now silent halls — 

And how like fairy-land, or some strange dream 
Of olden time, the place in all its pride would seem. 

Sweet Kernwood ! — many a day has passed since 
when, 
With happy steps, I trod its sunny dells — 
And yet my heart goes back to it again, 

Bound to its beauty by a thousand spells 
Of loveliness and witchery, and a thrill 
That in my heart like song keeps gushing, gushing still ! 



YOICES BY THE WAY. 201 



''JUST SIXTEEN." 

A PICTURE. 

Just sixteen ! — Her laughing eyes 
Wear the tint of summer skies ; 
Curls of bright, sunshiny hair 
Bathe like light her forehead fair ; 
Dimples play at hide and seek 

Round her warm lips, ruby-bright, 
And along her tinted cheek 

Fresh with girlhood's rosiest light. 

Just sixteen ! — oh, golden time ! — 
Youth and Hope with wooing chime 
Rousing in the waking breast 
Tones yet vague and unexprest — 
Gentle tones of love and truth. 
Haunting with a magic power, 



202 U TTE RANG E. 

All the day-dreams of a youth 
Bursting, bud-like, into flower. 

Just sixteen ! — [not far a-back 
Lies my girlhood's rosy track, — 
When my heart was in its June — 
With a glorious life in tune — 
When I loved — and loving, woke 

To a knowledge sweet yet wild. 
Whose strange influence o'er me broke, 

Leaving me no more a child. 

Just sixteen ! — oh, laughing girl, 
Guard thy hair's luxuriant curl, 
Keep the sunshine in thine eyes. 
Keep thy warm cheek's dimpling dyes, - 
But, that bright dream in thy soul, ^ 

Nurse it not too fondly, well, — 
Lest, with rigorous, strong control, 

Coming years may break the spell. 



VOICES E Y THE "WAY. 203 



TWILIGHT. 

Shadows of the evening grimly, 

Faint and dimly, 
Gather on the parlor wall ; 

Over all, 
Twilight settles like a pall. 

Each faint lamp adown the village. 

With envious pillage. 
Takes the semblance of a star; 

From afar 
Seeming other than they are. 

Lamps on high, whose tremulous sparkling 

Rends the darkling 
Curtains of the shrouded eve. 

Seem to grieve 
As the daylight takes its leave. 



204 TTTTEKANCE, 

Still 'tis fading — slowly — slowly — 

Dim and holy 
Conies the gathering darkness on ; 

— Day is gone ! 
No more brightness 'till the dawn. 

Then again will earth be lightened ; 

Shadows frightened, 
Silently will steal away 

'Neath the sway 
Of another glorious day. 

— Thus I love to watch the shining 

Day declining, — 
Weaving fancies dim or bright 

'Till the night 
Qverspreads and wraps me quite. 

— So, when Death'' s grim shadows gather, 

Oh, my Father, 
Round my being, send Thine aid ! 



YOICES BY THE WAT. 205 

Undismayed 
May I watch each darkening shade. 

Calmly, with a holy sadness 

Mixed with gladness, 
May I view my Life's last ray 

Fade away, 
Glorious as this setting day ! 

While dear eyes in loving duty, 

(Stars of beauty,) 
Grieving, hover o'er my bed ; 

When I'm dead, 
Weeping that my life has fled. 

Yet descrying through their sorrow, 

Lovelier morrow 
Waiting me, — Death's night-time o'er, — 

On that shore 
Where 'tis day for ever more ! 



206 * UTTERANCE. 



SUMMER HYMN. 

SxJMMEK, sweet summer, how glorious thou ! — 
Weaving warm blossoms to garland thy brow, — 
Playing glad tunes in the beautiful trees, — 
Throwing thy breath on the wandering breeze, — 
^Yaking the voice of the answering stream, — 
Dancing along in the sun's warm beam, — 
Calling the birds with their wealth of glee 
To waken, and warble, and sing with thee ! 

Beautiful summer, my heart grows gay 

With the v/ild delight of a child at play, 

As I see the buds in their opening bloom, 

Or fill the vase in my pleasant room : 

And I look far down into each sweet cup, 

And watch the dew as it bubbles up ; 

And the wish will dwell in my heart for hours, 

That I was a fairy and lived in flowers. 



VOICES BY THE WAY. 207 

'Tis a childish wish — but I cannot see 

The bird and the blossom, the stream and bee, 

Or look on the depths of the summer sky, 

And then go back with the same glad eye 

To the haunts of men, to the world's cold smile, — 

There's a weariness here in my heart the while, 

And a yearning wish to be back again 

In the shaded dell or the leafy glen. 

There is not a flov/er on the green hill-side, 

Nor a wave on the summer streamlet's tide, 

A leaf in the forest, a bird on the tree, 

But speaks to my heart with a voice of glee. 

And it is not strange that my bosom swells 

With a glad delight in the silent dells. 

Or beats with a nameless thrill to go 

Wiiere the streamlets sing and the sweet flowers blow ! 

Beautiful summer, I love thee well ! 

Thy child am I by a holy spell, 

For thy pleasant tones and garb of flowers 

Have bound my heart to thy witching hours. 



208 -UTTERANCE. 

I cannot be weary when thou art here, 
For the cloud would vanish, the shadow clear, 
To wander out in the woods, and be 
Alone with Nature, and God, and thee ! 



VOICES BY THE WAY. 209 



LOVE'S ILLUSION. 

What shall I call thee, 

My Blossom, my Flower? 
How shall I name thee, 

Thou Pride of my Bower ? 
My Lily, my Tulip, 

My beautiful Rose, — 
The fliirest and sweetest 

Around me that glows ! 

Come nearer, my Violet, 

Nearer my side ; 
My Primrose, my Heartsease, 

My sweet London Pride. 
My darling Acacia, 

My Blue-bell, my Pink, 
My Fox-glove, my Hawthorn, 

What else ? — let me think. 
14 



210 TJ TT E RANGE. 

My Jasmine, my Jonquil, 

My Cowslip, my Sage ; 
My Sweet-Scented-Clover, 

My Youth-and-Old-Age ; 
My pretty Laburnam — 

I've wearied my store ; 
Yet tarry a moment, 

I'll think of some more. 

Place thy hand tenderly, 

Warmly in mine. 
My Golden Nasturtion, 

My sweet Columbine ! 
Sing to me softly, 

My Calla, my Balm, 
And throw round my senses 

A sweet, witching calm. 

Rouse thee, my Dahlia, 
I'm waiting thy song; 

Ah, wherefore compel me 
To tarry so long? 



YOICES BY THE WAY. 211 

But — would you believe it? 

She's slumbering fast ! — 
She's nothing at all, 

But a Poppy at last ! 



212 UTTERANCE 



AN IMPROMPTU. 

ACCOUNTING FOB, DEFICIENCY IN THE ORGAN OF "HOPE," AND 
ADDRESSED TO A PHRENOLOGICAL FRIEND. 

Hope, the dreamer, came one day 

To my heart a wooing, 
Pleading, if I'd bid him stay, 
Never would he falsely stray, 
But within my heart alway 

Would be gently cooing, cooing — 
Pleading if I'd bid him stay, 
He would never roam away. 

But my heart, my foolish heart, 

EousiDg from its languor. 
With a quick, impulsive start, 
Bade the dreaming boy depart, — 



VOICES BY THE -WAY. 213 

Chiding his audacious art, 

Half in jest and half in anger. 
So my heart, my foolish heart, 
Bade the dreaming boy depart. 

Now he shuns me day and night, 

Shuns me eve and morning. 
— Say tho', — was it hardly right, 
Leaving me in such a plight? 
Who'd have thought he'd vanish quite, — 

Miffed at my o'er-hasty warning? 
Say now, — was it hardly right, 
Tjeaving me in such a plight ? 



214 TJTTEKANCE 



SONNET 



TO WILLIAM R. DEMPSTER. 



Sweet minstrel of the heart ! a wondrous power 
Lies prisoned in those calm, closed lips of thine ; 

And when, as in this holy evening hour, 
I've heard thee waken strains almost divine, 
My soul has well nigh worshipped at thy shrine ; — 

And, with my shut eyes aching with the tide 

Of tears, whose passionate force at length gave way, 

I've listened till my spirit has denied 

Its union with this coarse and common clay 
That circles it like darkness shrouding day ! 

And I have longed to mingle in the tone 

Warm with thy spirit's deep and earnest sighs. 

The low, sad, desolate sighings of mine own, 
And float thus up to heaven in broken melodies ! 



YOICES BY THE WAY. 215 



SONNET: 

WRITTEN ON THE FLY-LEAF OF WORDSWORTH'S MEMOIRS. 

Natuee's own Poet ! — found she not in thee 

An earnest lover and most ample friend ? 
Oh, that thy mantle might but circle me, 

And thy warm spirit on my own descend! — 
That, thro' the outward guise, I too may see 

The simple use to which all objects bend; 
That every flower, and bush, and waving tree. 

May solve the riddle of a noble end, 
A purpose woven in eternity, 

Slow-working, veiled, and hard to comprehend. 
But, when at length wrought out, ordained to be 

A golden scheme where all things fitly blend! 
Happy, oh Wordsworth, thou! and happy he 

Whose simplest thoughts, like thine, to such sweet 
uses tend. 



216 Xr TTEKANCE 



MY GRAVE. 

Give me a grave where the wild blossoms revel, 

Let me repose 'neath some whispering tree ; 
Close by the home of the robin and sparrow, 

Near to the haunts of the murmuring bee. 
Bury me not where the place is all silent 

Save the dull sound of the bat on the wing, 
Or the screech of the owl in his midnight carousal 

Haunting the spot like a terrified thing. 

Let me not lie where the brier and bramble 

Choke the green grass o'er my place of repose ; 
Give me no grave where the poisonous night-shade 

Over my ashes its dim shadow throws ; 
Friends that I loved in the hour of my being 

Never would visit my desolate bed, 
Or, if they came, they would turn away shuddering, 

Linking dark thoughts with the home of the dead. 



VOICES BY THE WAY. 217 

No — let me lie by the side of some streamlet 

Murm'ring its song in the flower-scented air ; 
Seek ye some place where the spot is all joyous. 

Meet for my spirit — and bury me there ! 
Oh, I should slumber so peacefully, sweetly, 

Blossoms to deck me and music around ! 
Angels, methinks, would be ever beside me. 

Making the charnel-place heavenly ground. 

Friendship would come with its ofF'ring of roses. 

Twining a chaplet to lay on my tomb ; 
Love would be there with a smile and a tear-drop. 

Smiles for my mem'ry and tears for my doom. 
There they would linger, the long summer evening, 

Likening my race to the course of the sun, — 
Glad in its rising and calm in its setting, 

— Sinking to rest when my journey was done. 

Over my grave they would talk of the lost one, 
Fondly recalling each trait that was dear ; 

Tenderly throwing the pall of oblivion 

Over the faults of the cherished one near. 



218 UTTERANCE. 

Then they would pause in the pleasant recital, 
Marking the loveliness scattered abroad, 

Turning their thoughts to the lovelier dwelling 
Where the departed was resting with God. 

Then let me lie where the wild blossoms revel. 

Let me repose 'neath some whispering tree ; 
Close by the home of the robin and sparrow. 

Near to the haunts of the murmuring bee. 
Oh, I shall slumber so peacefully, sweetly, 

Blossoms to deck me and music around ! 
Surely kind angels will hover beside me, 

Making the charnel-place heavenly ground ! 



YOICES BY THE WAY. 219 



NIGHT. 

Oh, silent, mystic Night ! — Too oft I look 

Into thy face as into some strange book. 

Whence comest thou and wherefore ? — What strong 

power 
Ordained thy waxing and thy waning hour? 
— From cold Philosophy I turn away, 
(Teaching that night must needs succeed to day,) 
And read in my own heart and in thine eyes. 
Solution of thy seeming mysteries. 

I sit within my solitary room 
And watch how, mid the ever-deepening gloom, 
All things grow shrouded, till the whited wall 
Stands a dim shadow 'twixt me and the hall. 
Then, slowly rising, through my window-bars 
I note how gradually the patient stars 



220 UTTEUANCE. 

Sow the wide sky with points of golden light, 
Like gems slow-dropt from some invisible height, 
Or beaming flowers fresh-flung on the broad brow of 
night ! 

Oh, radiant sight ! I see the moon arise 
Just where the sea is married to the skies ; 
At first a round, broad shape of blazing fire. 
But cooled and mellowed as she rises higher, — 
Clearing her way through clouds whose torn edge 

gleams 
With the bright shimmer of her lavish beams. 
Till in mid-heaven she swings, full-orbed and fair, 
A golden glory gilding all the air. 
And fiooding earth, till tree and hillock seem 
The burnished furniture of some bright dream ; 
And the quaint houses in the silent town 
Lose their sharp angles and their dingy brown, 
And stand out in the moonlight — fair and neat — 
Like fairy palaces up and down the street. 
And far away I see the old fort stand, 
(The blue sea bathing it on either hand,) 



VOICES BY THE WAY. 221 

The dim, old, silent fort, where, years ago, 

Strong men gave battle to a stormy foe. 

How peacefully and calmly now it lies, 

Lifting its torn front to the holy skies, 

Battered as with the smite of centuries ! 

— I scarce can think how once these grass-grown banks 

Rang to the hurrying tread of warlike ranks, — 

How from yon ramparts, silent now as death. 

Strong cannon thundered with their fiery breath, — 

And how in yon green plain that sleeps below. 

The planted troops stood strong against the foe ! 

I pause and marvel as by turns I trace 

Those dim old ruins and the Night's calm face, — 

One, e'en in desolation, breathing strife, 

The other pointing to serener life 

And winning the tired spirit to repose 

Like that which from its own sweet influence flows. 

Oh, holy Night ! thou teachest Love and Peace ; 
Could we but learn of thee, all strife would cease ; 
And, like yon fair-orbed moon that clears her way 
Through clouds gold-skirted with her own bright ray, 



222 IJTTEKANCE. 

So, gilding all life's gloom with golden dyes, 
Our souls should struggle to the upper skies. 
And moving calmly through th' appointed space. 
Look back at length upon a glorious race ! 
— Oh give me patience, strength ! — lift this tired sov 
And waft it, panting, to its sought-for goal ! — 
Subdue its erring, earth-born tendencies ! — 
Chasten and mould it for serener skies ! 

In vain, oh silent Night ! no voice comes back 

To nerve my spirit to its upward track, 

Yet thy calm influence shall exert its share 

Of holy prompting in my nightly prayer. 

And win for me, perchance, a Father's care, — 

And, after, gild my dreams with fairest light. 

Chastened and pure as thine, oh holy, holy Night ! 



TOICES BY THE WAT. 223 



STRIFE AND PEACE. 

** The battle of our life is brief, 
The alarm — the struggle — the relief; 
Then sleep we, side by side." 

Longfellow. 

Yes, I shall sleep ! some sunny day, 
When blossoms in the wind are dancing, 

And children at their cheerful play 

Heed not the mournful crowd advancing, 

Up through the long and busy street 
They'll bear me to my last retreat. 

Or else — it matters not — may rave 

The storm, and sleet, and wintry weather 

Above the bleak and new-made grave, 
Where care and I lie down together. 

Enough that I shall know it not. 

Beneath, in that dark, narrow spot. 



224 UTTERANCE. 

For I shall sleep ! As sweet a sleep 
As ever graced a babe reposing, 

Awaits me in the cell so deep, 

^Vhere I, my weary eyelids closing, 

At length shall lay me down to rest, 

Heedless of clods above my breast. 



Asleep ! how still this pulse will lie, 

Rid of life's throb that beats so wildly ! 

How calm will be this restless eye, 

Erst bright with tears, now closed so mildly ! 

For not one dream of earth will come 

To haunt the quiet of that home ! 



Oh sweet repose ! Oh slumber blest ! 

Oh night of peace ! — no storm, no sorrow 
No heavy stirring in my rest, 

To meet another weary morrow ! 
I shall not note nor night nor dawn. 
But still, with folded hands, sleep on. 



VOICES BY THE WAY. 225 

Sleep on, though just above my head 
Prowl Sin and Misery's haggard faces — 

For the dull slumber of the dead 
All sense of human woe erases ; 

Palsies the heart and cures the brain 

Of every fever- throb of pain. 



Armies above my rest may tramp — 
'Twill not disturb one rigid muscle; 

I should not heed their iron stamp 
More than a leaf's complaining rustle 

Nay, were the world convened to break 

My leaden sleep, I should not wake. 



And yet, methinks, if steps of those 

I've known and loved on earth were round me, 
'Twould tame the might of my repose, 

Shiver the iron cords that bound me — 
Save that I know this could not be. 
For death disowns all sympathy. 
15 



226 UTTEKANCE. 

Well, he it so, since I should yearn 

And weep and watch for their appearing — 

Chiding each ling' ring, late return, 
For ever sad, for ever fearing — 

Living Life's drama o'er again, 

Its tragedy of Hope and Pain. 

Then weep not, friends, what time ye lay 
The warm, moist earth above my ashes ; 

Think what a rest awaits my clay. 

And smooth the mound with tearless lashes - 

Glad that the wasted form within 

Has done at length with care and sin. 

Think that with her the strife is o'er. 
Life's stormy, struggling battle ended ; 

Hope that her soul has gained that shore 
To which, though weak, her footsteps tended 

Breathe the dear hope above her sod, 

And leave her to her rest — and God ! 



VOICES BY THE WAY. 227 



WHEN I AM OLD. 

When I am old, — and oh, how soon 
Will Life's sweet morning yield to noon 
And noon's broad, fervid, earnest light — 
Be shrouded in the solemn night ; — 
Till like a story well-nigh told. 
Will seem my life — when I am old. 

When I am old — this breezy earth 
Will lose for me its voice of mirth ; — 
The streams will have an under-tone 
Of sadness, not by right their own : — - 
And spring's sweet power in vain unfold 
In rosy charms — when I am old. 

When I am old — I shall not care 
To deck with flowers my faded hair; 



228 UTTERANCE. 

'Twill be no vain desire of mine, 
In rich and costly dress to shine : — 
Bright jewels and the brightest gold 
Will charm me naught — when I am old. 

When I am old — my friends will be 
Old and infirm and bowed — like me. 
Or else, — their bodies 'neath the sod, 
Their spirits dwelling safe with God, — 
The old church bell will long have tolled 
Above their rest — when I am old. 

When I am old — I'd rather bend 
Thus sadly o'er each buried friend, 
Than see them lose the earnest truth 
That marks the friendship of our youth ; - 
'Twill be so sad to have them cold 
Or strange to me — when I am old! 

When I am old ! — oh, how it seems 
Like the wild lunacy of dreams. 



VOICES BY THE WAY. 229 

To picture in prophetic rhyme, 
That dim, far-distant, shadowy time ; — 
So distant that it seems o'er-bold 
Even to say — " When I am old ! '* 

When I am old? — perhaps ere then, 
I shall be missed from haunts of men ; — 
Perhaps my dwelling will he found 
Beneath the green and quiet mound ; — 
My name by stranger hands enrolled 
Among the dead — ere I am old ! 

Ere I am old ? — that time is now, 
For youth sits lightly on my brow; 
My limbs are firm, and strong, and free, 
Life has a thousand charms for me ; — 
Charms that will long their influence hold 
Within my heart — ere I am old. 

Ere I am old — oh, let me give 
My life to learning Jiow to live! 



T7TTEKANCE, 



Then shall I meet with willing heart 
An early summons to depart, 
Or find my lengthened days consoled 
By God's sweet peace — when I am old. 



VOICES BY THE WAY. 231 



AUBURN DALE. 

"Within thy shades, sweet Auburn Dale, 
My feet have wandered not in vain; 

Each breezy glade and leafy vale 
Recalls my spirit's youth again. 

Oh, wondrous spell, that charms me back 
To the dear dreams my childhood knew, 

When all along Life's sunny track 

Sweet hopes like trembling blossoms grew ! 

I stand within these leafy dells, 

Once more a happy, dreaming child, 

Encircled by delicious spells 

And by a nameless thrall beguiled. 

Strange that these human hearts of ours 
Can travel back thro' toil and tears, 



232 UTTERANCE. 

And live once more the golden hours 
That blest those earlier, happier years ! 

Strange that the fresh, glad, joyous earth, 
With its warm spells of light and bloom. 

Can make the soul forget its dearth. 
Its desolate weariness and gloom ! 

Thanks, oh our God — for Thine own care 
Planned all this loveliness we see. 

That every sight, sublime or fair. 

Might win us back to Youth and Thee ! 

Thanks for this hour of sweet reprieve 
From the dull chains of worldly strife ; 

One hour like this has power to breathe 
New gladness thro' the darkest life. 



VOICES BY THE WAY. 238 



THE RAIN. 

Heigh-ho ! the rain, 
The wild, impetuous rain ! — 
Hear how it raves at my window-pane ! 
Hurrying down with a mad commotion, 
Mad as the din of a storm-lashed ocean, — 
Sweeping the mountain, pelting the plain — 
Heigh-ho ! the wild, impetuous rain ! 

Heigh-ho ! the rain. 
The chiding, querulous rain! — 
Hear how it scolds at my window-pane ! 
See on the boughs that are well-nigh breaking. 
Hundreds of leaves in their terror shaking; 
Seeming to murmur this sad refrain, 
*' Heigh-ho ! the chiding, querulous rain ! " 



234 T7TTEKANCE. 

Heigh-ho ! the rain, 
The restless, tremulous rain ! 
Hear how it beats at my window-pane ! 
Beats like a heart with fear affrighted, 
Beats like a heart with love delighted ; — 
Half in gladness and half in pain — 
Heigh-ho ! the restless, tremulous rain ! 

Heigh-ho ! the rain. 
The pleading, pitiful rain! 
Hear how it sighs at my window-pane ! 
Type of a breast that is full of sorrow. 
Sighing for peace and a brighter morrow ; 
Sighs that are uttered too oft in vain — 
Heigh-ho ! the pleading, pitiful rain ! 

Heigh-ho ! the rain. 
The weary, desolate rain ! 
Hear how it sobs at my window-pane ! 
Sobs like a child that has lost its mother, 
And never, never can find another 



VOICES BY THE WAY. 235 

To love and clierisli like Tier again ! — 
Heigh-ho ! the weary, desolate rain ! 

Heigh-ho ! the rain, 
The dainty, delicate rain ! 
Hear how it taps at my window-pane ! 
Gratefully sweet, like Love's moist fingers 
Laid on a brow where fever lingers. 
Drip the cool sounds on my heated brain — 
Heigh-ho ! the dainty, delicate rain ! 

Heigh-ho ! the rain, 
The lovely, musical rain ! 
Hear how it chants at my window-pane ! 
Hushed is the tempest's petulant chiding. 
Gently and gracefully now 'tis gliding 
Into a calm and beautiful strain, — 
Heigh-ho ! the lovely, musical rain ! 

Heigh-ho ! the rain. 
The fitful, vanishing rain! 



236 UTTERANCE. 

Now it has ceased at my window-pane, 
Through the torn edge of a cloud just parted. 
See ! one tremulous star has started ; 
Putting to silence my dull refrain, — 
" Heigh-ho ! the fitful, vanishing rain ! " 



VOICES BY THE WAT. 237 



EVENING. 

Come, dear one, for the evening hour is stealing 
Slowly and quietly the earth upon ; 
Come, for the season of each pure revealing, 
With the soft night-dew comes half sadly on. 
Nature is quiet and the heart at rest 
In this sweet twilight hour, the holiest and the hest. 

Come, for the light winds with their fairy fingers. 
Play their soft descants in each bush and tree, 
And in the brake the starry fire-fly lingers, 
Lighting the fairies to their nightly glee ; 
And the faint stars begin to stud the sea 
Of boundless blue above, with their soft brilliancy. 

See in the west the rosy clouds are meeting, 
Laying their glowing cheeks against the sky ; 



23'8 UTTERANCE. 

Nestling all fondly, where with kindly greeting, 
The sun to earth has kissed his last good-bye ; 
How lovingly they cluster in the west. 
Like tired children, laid in the same couch to rest. 

From the moist earth, where the clear dew lies weeping, 
Comes the sweet incense of the closing flower; 
Most meet it is that dew-drops should be keeping 
Their tearful vigils at this dreamy hour ; 
Ay, meet it is that earth itself should weep, 
When its supremest joy — the flowers — are all asleep. 

God hath made evening beautiful ; — the flowers, 
The light winds and the rosy clouds and dew, 
Lend each their glory to these sunset hours, 
And gild them with a radiance ever new; 
But THEY can never image half His worth, 
Who spake them all from nought, in their glad-hour 
of birth. 

The stars are glorious, but He is glory, 
The flowers are lovely, but perfection He; 



VOICES BY THE WAY. 239 

The clouds are beautiful, but He is beauty, 
The matchless God ! the spotless Deity ! 
Oh, let us bow and worship and adore 
The Infinite ! the Good ! Angels could do no more ! 



240 ITTTEItANCE. 



AUTUMN LEAVES. 

Ay, they are dying ! See them one by one 

Fall with a noiseless footstep to the earth, 

From the kind arms that since their infancy 

Have cherished them so fondly. Not a sigh 

Charges the air with sorrow as they pass 

From the old homestead where their youth was spent, 

And their maturer age ; but, from above. 

Among the stricken boughs, the sobbing winds 

Chant fitfully and low their solemn hymns 

And dirge-like melodies, — meet requiem 

O'er the departure of those falling leaves. 

Those falling leaves ! — but a brief space ago, 

And they were fresh with being. Spring's sweet breath 

Stole like a charmer o'er them, and awoke 

Each leaf-bud from its trance, and hour by hour 

They silently unfolded to the light. 

Until each tree-top seemed a sparkling mine 



VOICES BY THE WAY. 241 

Of living emeralds gloriously bright. 

And then came blossoms, and rare sport had they, 
Those dancing leaves, with the fair visiters, 
The sweet new comers, with their rosy cheeks, 
And dewy lips, and soft delicious breath ! 
How they would toy with them the livelong day, 
And kiss their glowing cheeks, and lay their hands 
Caressingly upon their velvet brows, 
And play sweet songs to them upon the strings 
Of their invisible harps — the tuneful winds ! 
And then they'd dance to the soft, witching strains, 
Making the green old earth like some bright haunt 
Of fairy revelry. 

Then Summer came ; 
The glowing blossoms changed to glowing fruit. 
Yet still as tirelessly the leaves danced on. 
But with maturer grace, for time had lent 
A softened influence to their sportive glee; 
And shelteringly they threw their broad, green arms 
Over the ripening fruit, as if to shield 
The precious treasure from the covetous grasp 
Of man's rude hand. But the sweet care was vain, 
16 



242 UTTERANCE. 

For Autumn's mellow months drew on apace, 
And with them came the reaper, and the boughs 
Shook 'neath his hand like aspens, till the red 
And golden harvest strewed the hardened ground. 
Snatched from their cradled home where they had dwelt 
In their bright beauty ! 

So the leaves began 
To droop for sorrow, and to lay aside 
Their fresh green garbs for robes of darker hue ; 
And strangely melancholy grew the tones 
Of their sweet harps, until the love of life 
Grew cold within their bosoms ; — blossoms, fruits, 
And summer days had gone, and what had they 
Longer to do with life r — so, one by one, 
They gathered up their dark and rustling robes. 
Glad that the toil of life was done, — and died ! 



VOICES BY THE WAY. 24S 



THE CHILD'S LAST WISH. 

" Mother, dear Mother, the day is done ; 
Rapidly sinketh the setting sun, — 
While on the wings of the passing hours, 
Lingers the breath of the shutting flowers. 
Mother, dear Mother, before I die, 
Throw up the sash to the clear night-sky ; 
Fain would I whisper a last farewell 
To the gentle flowers that I loved so well." 

The Mother rose with a tearful eye, 

And threw up the sash to the evening sky. 

"Mother, dear Mother, they all are there 
With their gentle eyes and their foreheads fair ; 
Lily and Violet, Myrtle and Rose, 
Laying them down to their night*s repose.. 



244" TJTTEKANCE. 

Mother, I wisli I could pass away 

From this lovely eartli with the dying day ! 

How sweet to be borne to celestial bowers 

On the pleasant breath of the fainting flowers ! " 

The Mother turned with an anxious eye, 
And gazed on her darling tearfully. 

^' Mother, dear Mother, I fain would rest, 

Pillowed once more on your loving breast. 

Dark to my vision is twilight now, 

Cold are the shadows that press my brow. 

Mother, dear Mother, your gentle face 

Mid the thick darkness no more I trace ; 

Death is around me — farewell — I roam 

On the breath of flowers to my heavenly home." 

The Mother gazed — but her tears were dried ; 
Her child — with the fainting blossoms — died ! 



VOICES BY THE WAY. 245 



HESPERUS. 

Daylight lay dying ; — down the sloping sky 

Swept the rich crimson of her gorgeous shroud — 
(Strange pageantry of Death!) — when suddenly, 

From the rent bosom of a rosy cloud, 
Sprang the sweet star of evening — for a while 

Heaven's only habitant — but soon the blue 
Grew dimpled o'er with one continuous smile 

From stars that every moment trembled through ; 
Until it seemed — so merry waxed the crowd — 
The very skies must lift their voice and laugh aloud ! 

Yet, from the glittering multitude, my eye, 

Half wearied, wandered to that one bright ray. 

That first lone star which lit so lovingly 
Its funeral torch above the dying day. — 

Queen of the Eve ! — the fairest and the first ! 
Gem of the night, tho' thousands shine afar! 



246 UTTERANCE. 

— And still, with love tliat many years have nursed, 

Still is it to my gaze the one bright star ! 
My childhood's darling and my girlhood's pride — 
Loved with a simple faith that never once has died I 



VOICES BY THE WAY. 247 



THE ORIGIN OF DIMPLES. 



One morning in the blossoming May 

A child was sporting 'mongst the flowers, 
Till, wearied out with his restless play, 
He laid him down to dream away 

The long and scorching noon-tide hours. 

At length an Angel's unseen form 

Parted the air with a conscious thrill, 
And poised itself like a presence warm 

Above the boy, who was slumbering still. 
Never before had so fair a thing 
Stayed the swift speed of his shining wing ; 
And gazing down with a wonder rare 
On the beautiful face of the dreamer there, 
The Angel stooped to kiss the child, 
When lo ! at the touch the baby smiled — 



248 UTTEEANCE. 

And just where the unseen lips had prest, 

A dimple lay in its sweet unrest, — 

Sporting upon his cheek of rose 

Like a ripple waked from its light repose 

On a streamlet's breast when the soft wind blows. 

— And the Angel passed from the sleeping one, 

For his mission to earth that day was done. 

A fair face bent above the boy ; 

It must have been the boy's own mother, — 
For never would such pride and joy 

Have lit the face of any other. 
And while she gazed, the quiet air 
Grew tremulous with a whispered prayer. 
Anon it ceased, and the boy awoke, 
And a smile of love o'er his features broke. 
The mother marked with a holy joy 
The dimpling cheek of her darling boy. 
And caught him up, while a warm surprise 
Stole like a star to her midnight eyes ! — 
And she whispered low, as she gently smiled, 
" I know an angel has kissed my child ! " 



VOICES BY THE WAY. • 2.49 



SADNESS. 

Wherefore comes this misty feeling 

Ever in my lonely hours, 
O'er my heart in tear-drops stealing, 

Like sad night-dews over flowers ? 

'Tis not pain, — it is not sorrow, — 
Something holier than they ; — 

Thoughts, that, like the twilight, borrow 
Beauty from the dying day. 

Daylight in my heart is dying, 

Yet the dark night is not there, 
Only twilight, still and pulseless 
As the hush that follows prayer. 

Call ye not my sadness sorrow ; — 
Give it not so dark a name 



250 UTTEKANCE. 

^Miile my soul it lit with memory's 
Sad, yet sweetly shining flame. 

Sorrow is the soul's dark night-time, 
Without light of stars or moon ; 

Fears, like winds, forever playing 
On the heart a dirge-like tune. 

Sadness is the spirit's twilight. 
Beautiful with day's last gleam, 

^Vhile, from far, Hope's star is rising 
With its calm and holy beam. 

Twilight round my heart is gath'ring, 
But the bright Sun of the Past 

Gilds with Heaven's own light the shadows 
That would else come crowding fast. 

Though the day's fierce light has faded, 

Yet its influence lingers on ; 
It has faded but to show me 

Lights that erst I knew not shone ; — 



VOICES BY THE "WAY. 251 

Stars of hope that gild the future, 
Lesser than the great hright sun ; — 

But if lesser, far more num'rous, — 
They are many, — it but one. 

Welcome then this quiet sadness, 
This sweet twilight of the heart ! 

So that this but gild my spirit, 
Gladly with the day I'll part. 



252 TTTTE RANGE 



TRUTH vs. CUSTOM. 

*' That monster, Custom ! " 

Shakspeare. 
•* The Truth shall make you free." 

Gospels. 

As the wave that driven landward, rushes back upon 
the main, 

Only to be sent to grapple with the pebbly shore 
again. 

So the pulse-tides of my spirit, reaching out to Truth 
alone, 

On the cold, bleak shores of Custom are for ever back- 
ward thrown. 

Where the monster, iron-featured, sways the race from 
zone to zone. 

Whence this rigid, cold compulsion — this slow tyranny 
of fate? — 



YOICES BY THE AVAY. 253 

Must I learn from lips of others what to love and 
what to hate ? 

Are there in my own true spirit no great voices I may 
trust, — 

No dear thoughts, my own by birth-right, rising from 
its wrecks and dust, 

That my will must bow for ever to the World's im- 
perious " Must ? " 

Can the free soul brook dictation ? Wings it hath to 
soar away 

From these flesh and blood enthrallments, these world- 
manacles of clay ! 

So the lightning, chained and tutored to perform man's 
lightest will, 

Yet retains within its nature all its power of good or 
ill,- 

Seemingly subdued, obedient — but, for all that, light- 
ning still ! 

Thus among my kind I wander, outwardly content to 
wear 



254 UTTEEANCE. 

Shackles custom-forged and fashioned with most nice 

and rigorous care ; 
But I feel a spirit in me more majestic than them 

all, 
Rising in its calm indifference — able to withstand the 

thrall — 
Strong to make its own enactments 'gainst a "world's 

opposing call ! 

Truth and Duty are the masters that should sway the 

world alone, 
Holding each the same good sceptre — sitting on the 

same great throne. 
Blind Oppression, narrow Faction, and the whole 

opposing herd 
Holding Mind in tangled meshes, prisoned like a pining 

bird, — 
God at length shall sweep them headlong with the 

besom of a world. 

God — who called the Light from Darkness with a 
simple "Let there be," 



VOICES BY THE WAY. 255 

He, has power to break the bondage, bidding all who 

grope go free. 
Not for ever shall the spirit, struggling for diviner 

birth, 
Feel the strong, cold coils of Custom crushing it so 

close to earth, 
Pressing out its very life-blood, like a vintage little 

worth ! 

Not for ever — for already, — crimsoning the distant 
years 

With the glory of its zenith, — that prophetic dawn 
appears. 

When the free soul, no more crouching, hound-like, 
to another's nod. 

Throwing off each burning shackle, yields it to the 
eternal sod. 

Till the whole earth stands unfettered 'neath the per- 
fect reign of God ! 



'ni..,i;ii;!ii:;iii 



III II' 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

016 165 338 A ' f ■ 



